CMCTZo-d^T-XV' 


GOD   AND   THE   KING 


GOD  AND  THE 
KING 


BY 


MARJORIE    BOWEN 


AUTHOR  OF   "l  WILL  MAINTAIN" 


"LUCTOR  ET  EMERGO" 

MOTTO  OF  ZEELAND 


MD 

• 


• 


NEW  YORK 
E.    P.    DUTTON   AND    COMPANY 

31    WEST    TWENTY-THIRD    STREET 
1912 


Stack 


600  ^ 

6t>n 
IW 


DEDICATED 
VERY  GRATEFULLY 

TO 

MAJOR-GENERAL  F.   DE   BAS 


CONTENTS 


PART  I 

THE  REVOLUTION 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.   THE  AFTERNOON  OF  JUNE  3OTH,    l688  ...          3 

II.   THE  EVENING  OF  JUNE  3OTH,   1688       .  .               .               -13 

III.  THE  NIGHT  OF  JUNE  30TH,    l688            .  .               .               '        25 

IV.  THE  MESSENGER  FROM   ENGLAND            .  .               .               -33 
V.   THE  PRINCESS  OF  ORANGE          .               .  .               .               .40 

VI.   THE  LETTERS  OF  MR.    HERBERT  .  .  .  •        5° 

VII.   THE  SILENT  WOOD  .  .  .  .  .  -59 

VIII.   THE  POLICY  OF  THE  PRINCE      .  .  .  .  .67 

IX.   FRANCE  MOVES    .......        77 

X.   THE  ENGLISH   AMBASSADOR         .  .  .  .  .90 

XI.   THREE  PAWNS     .......        99 

XII.   FRANCE  MOVES  AGAIN    .  .  .  .  .  .      IO7 

XIII.  THE  GREAT  ENTERPRISE  .  .  .  .  .      11$ 

XIV.  STORMS     ........      126 

XV.   THE  SECOND  SAILING      .  .  .  .  .  .136 

XVI.   NEWS  FROM   ENGLAND    ...  .143 

XVII.    FAREWELL  TO  HOLLAND  .  .15° 

XVIII.   BY  THE  GRACE  OF  GOD  .....      I$7 


PART  II 

THE  QUEEN 

I.   A  DARK   DAWNING            .               .  .  .  .               .165 

II.   THE  KING  AT  BAY            .                .  .  .  .                .172 

III.  THE  BEST  OF  LIFE           ....  .182 

IV.  THE  SECRET  ANGUISH     .               .     '  .  .  .               .      189 

v.  A  WOMAN'S  STRENGTH  .           .  .  .  .           •    197 


CONTENTS  vii 

CHAF.  PAGE 

VI.    GOD  SAVE  THE  QUEEN  !                 .....  2O? 

VII.    THE  SHADOW        .  .  .  .  .  .  .217 

VIII.    FEAR          ........  225 

IX.    CHRISTMAS   EVE  .                .                .                .                .                .                .  234 

X.   THE  QUEEN           .......  239 

XI.   THE  BITTER   PARTING     ......  246 


PART  III 
THE  KING 

I.  VITA  SINE  AMORB  MORS  BST     .  .  .  .  .259 

II.  THE  KING   IS  NEEDED     ......      269 

III.  ATTAINMENT         .......      276 

IV.  A   MAN'S   STRENGTH  ......      287 

V.  A   LEADER   OF  NATIONS.  .  .  .  .  .297 

VI.   THE   KING'S  AGENT           ......  303 

VII.   THE   BANK   OF   ENGLAND                .....  312 

VIII.    THE   BREAKING   FRIENDSHIP       .....  319 

IX.    PEACE        ........  325 

X.    THE   BROKEN   FRIENDSHIP            .....  333 

XI.   THE  KING'S  HUMILIATION           .....  339 

XII.   APATHY   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  -347 

XIII.  FRANCE  CHALLENGES      ......  354 

XIV.  THE  VANGUARD  OF  THE  WORLD             ....  362 
XV.   THE  EVE  OF  WAR             ......  366 

XVI.   GOD  AND  THE  KING       .  .  .  .  .  .      37? 


PART  I 
THE   REVOLUTION 


"  Un  prince  profond  dans  ses  vues  ;  habile  a  former  des  ligues  et  a  reunir  les 
esprits  ;  plus  heureux  a  exciter  les  guerres  qu'a.  combattre  ;  plus  a  craindre 
encore  dans  le  secret  du  cabinet,  qu'a  la  tete  des  armees  ;  un  ennemi  que  la 
haine  du  nom  Francais  avoit  rendu  capable  d'imaginer  de  grandes  chose  et 
de  les  executer  ;  un  de  ces  genies  qui  semblent  etre  nes  pour  mouvoir  a  leur 
gre  les  peuples  et  les  souverains — un  grand  homme.  .  .  .  " — MASSILLON, 
Oraison  Funebre  de  M.  le  Datiphin. 


CHAPTER   I 
THE  AFTERNOON  OF  JUNE  30™,  1688 

"  ^  I  AHERE  is  no    managing  an  unreasonable  people.    By 

J_       Heaven,  my  lord,  they  do  not  deserve  my  care." 

The  speaker  was  standing  by  an  open  window  that  looked 
on  to  one  of  the  courts  of  Whitehall  Palace  listening  to  the 
unusual  and  tumultuous  noises  that  filled  the  sweet  summer  air — 
noises  of  bells,  of  shouting,  the  crack  of  fireworks,  and  the  report 
of  joyous  mock  artillery. 

It  was  late  afternoon,  and  the  small  apartment  was  already 
left  by  the  departing  daylight  and  obscured  with  a  dusky  shade, 
but  no  candles  were  lit. 

There  was  one  other  person  in  the  room,  a  gentleman  seated 
opposite  the  window  at  a  tall  black  cabinet  decorated  with  gold 
lacquer  Chinese  figures,  that  showed  vivid  even  in  the  twilight. 
He  was  watching  his  companion  with  a  gentle  expression  of 
judgment,  and  twirling  in  his  slim  fingers  a  half-blown  white  rose. 

An  over-richness  of  furniture,  hangings,  and  appointments 
distinguished  the  chamber,  which  was  little  more  than  a  cabinet. 
The  flush  of  rich  hues  in  the  Mortlake  tapestries,  the  gold  on  the 
China  bureau,  the  marble,  gilt,  and  carving  about  the  mantel, 
two  fine  and  worldly  Italian  paintings  and  crystal  sconces,  set  in 
silver,  combined  to  give  the  place  an  overpowering  air  of  lavish 
ness ;  noticeable  in  one  corner  was  a  large  ebony  and  enamel 
crucifix. 

The  persons  of  these  two  gentlemen  were  in  keeping  with 
this  air  of  wealth,  both  being  dressed  in  an  opulent  style,  but  in 
themselves  they  differed  entirely  from  each  other. 

Neither  was  young,  and  both  would  have  been  conspicuous 
in  any  company  for  extreme  handsomeness,  but  there  was  no 
further  likeness. 


4  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

He  at  the  window  was  by  many  years  the  older,  and  past  the 
prime  of  life,  but  the  magnificence  of  his  appearance  created  no 
impression  of  age. 

Unusually  tall,  finely  made  and  graceful,  he  carried  himself 
with  great  dignity  ;  his  countenance,  which  had  been  of  the  purest 
type  of  aristocratic  beauty,  was  now  lined  and  marred — not  so 
much  by  years,  as  by  a  certain  gloom  and  sourness  that  had 
become  his  permanent  expression ;  his  eyes  were  large,  grey,  and 
commanding,  his  mouth  noble,  but  disfigured  by  a  sneer,  his 
complexion  blond  and  pale,  his  nose  delicately  formed  and 
straight;  a  fair  peruke  shaded  his  face  and  hung  on  to  his 
shoulders ;  he  was  dressed,  splendidly  but  carelessly,  in  deep 
blue  satins,  a  quantity  of  heavy  Venice  lace,  and  a  great  sword 
belt  of  embroidered  leather. 

The  other  gentleman  was  still  in  the  prime  of  life,  being 
under  fifty,  and  looking  less  than  his  age. 

Slight  in  build,  above  the  medium  height,  and  justly  propor- 
tioned, handsome  and  refined  in  feature,  dressed  with  great 
richness  in  the  utmost  extreme  of  fashion,  he  appeared  the  very 
type  of  a  noble  idle  courtier,  but  in  his  long,  straight,  heavy- 
lidded  eyes,  thin  sensitive  mouth,  and  the  deeply  cut  curve  of 
his  nostril  was  an  expression  of  power  and  intelligence  above 
that  of  a  mere  favourite  of  courts. 

He  wore  his  own  fair  hair  frizzed  and  curled  out  on  to  his 
shoulders  and  brought  very  low  on  to  his  forehead ;  under  his 
chin  was  a  knot  of  black  satin  that  accentuated  the  pale 
delicacy  of  his  complexion ;  every  detail  of  his  attire  showed 
the  same  regard  to  his  appearance  and  the  mode.  Had  it  not 
been  for  that  unconscious  look  of  mastery  in  the  calm  face  he 
would  have  seemed  no  more  than  a  wealthy  man  of  fashion.  In 
his  beautifully  formed  and  white  hands  he  held,  as  well  as  the 
rose,  a  handkerchief  that  he  now  and  then  pressed  to  his  lips ; 
in  great  contrast  to  the  other  man,  who  appeared  self-absorbed 
and  natural,  his  movements  and  his  pose  were  extremely  affected. 

A  pause  of  silence  wore  out ;  the  man  at  the  window  beat 
his  fingers  impatiently  on  the  high  walnut  back  of  the  chair 
beside  him,  then  suddenly  turned  a  frowning  face  towards  the 
darkening  room. 

My  lord,  what  doth  this  presage  ?  " 


THE  AFTERNOON  OF  JUNE  SOTH,   1688     5 

He  asked  the  question  heavily  and  as  if  he  had  much  con- 
fidence and  trust  in  the  man  to  whom  he  spoke. 

My  lord  answered  instantly,  in  a  voice  as  artificial  as  the 
fastidious  appointments  of  his  dress. 

"  Nothing  that  Your  Majesty's  wisdom  and  the  devotion  of 
your  servants  cannot  control  and  dispel." 

James  Stewart  turned  his  eyes  again  to  the  open  casement. 

"  Do  you  take  it  so  lightly,  my  lord  ?  "  he  asked  uneasily.  "  All 
London  shouting  for  these  disloyal  prelates — the  city  against  me  ?  " 

Lord  Sunderland  replied,  his  peculiarly  soothing  tones 
lowered  to  a  kind  of  caressing  gentleness,  while  he  kept  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  King. 

"  Not  the  city,  sir.  Your  Majesty  heareth  but  the  mobile — the 
handful  that  will  always  rejoice  at  a  set  given  to  authority.  The 
people  love  Your  Majesty  and  applaud  your  measures." 

"But  I  am  not  popular  as  my  brother  was,"  said  the  King, 
but  half  satisfied,  and  with  an  angry  look  towards  London. 

The  Earl  was  ready  with  his  softly  worded  reassurances. 

"His  late  Majesty  never  put  his  popularity  to  the  test — I 
think  he  could  not  have  done  what  you  have,  sir — is  not  the 
true  Faith  " — here  my  lord  crossed  himself — "  predominant  in 
England — hath  Your  Majesty  any  Protestant  left  in  office — have 
you  not  an  Ambassador  at  the  Vatican,  is  not  a  holy  Jesuit  father 
on  the  Council  board,  Mass  heard  publicly  in  Whitehall — the 
papal  Nuncio  openly  received? — and  hath  not  Your  Majesty 
done  these  great  things  in  three  short  years  ?  " 

A  glow  overspread  the  King's  sombre  face ;  he  muttered  a 
few  words  of  a  Latin  prayer,  and  bent  his  head. 

"  I  have  done  a  little," he  said— "a  little " 

Sunderland  lowered  his  eyes. 

"  Seeing  this  is  a  Protestant  nation,  Your  Majesty  hath  done  a 
deal." 

The  King  was  silent  a  moment,  then  spoke,  gloomy  again. 

"But,  save  yourself,  my  lord,  and  Dover  and  Salisbury,  no 
person  of  consequence  hath  come  into  the  pale  of  the  Church — 
and  how  hath  my  Declaration  of  Indulgence  been  received? 
Discontent,  disobedience  from  the  clergy,  insolence  from  the 
Bishops,  and  now  this, — near  to  rebellion  ! "  His  eyes  darkened. 
"  Could  you  have  heard  the  army  on  Hounslow  Heath,  my  lord 


6  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

— they  shouted  as  one  man  to  hear  these  traitors  had  oeen 
acquitted." 

He  began  to  stride  up  and  down  the  room,  talking  sternly, 
half  to  himself,  half  to  Sunderland,  the  speech  of  an  angry, 
obstinate  man. 

"But  I'll  not  give  way.  Who  is  this  Jack  Somers  who 
defended  them  ?  Make  a  note  of  him — some  Whig  cur  !  The 
Dissenters  too,  what  is  the  Anglican  Church  to  them  that  they 
must  stand  by  her?  Do  I  not  offer  them  also  freedom  of 
conscience  ?  Do  not  they  also  benefit  by  the  repeal  of  the  Test 
Act  ?  " 

Sunderland  made  no  remark  ;  he  sat  with  his  hand  over  the 
lower  part  of  his  face.  By  the  expression  of  his  eyes  it  might 
seem  that  he  was  smiling ;  but  the  light  was  fading,  and  James 
did  not  look  at  his  minister. 

"  I'll  break  the  Colleges  too.  Let  them  look  to  it.  I'll  go 
on.  Am  I  not  strong  enough  ?  They  are  rebels  at  Oxford 
— I'll  take  no  rebellion — that  was  my  father  his  fault ;  he  was  not 
strong  enough  at  first — it  must  be  put  down  now — now,  eh,  my 
Lord  Sunderland  ?  " 

He  stopped  abruptly  before  the  Earl,  who  rose  with  an  air  of 
humility. 

"It  is  my  poor  opinion,  oft  repeated,  that  Your  Majesty 
must  stop  for  nothing,  but  take  these  grumblers  with  a  firm  hand 
and  crush  them." 

This  .counsel,  though  not  new,  seemed  to  please  the  King. 

"  You  have  ever  given  me  good  advice,  my  lord."  He  paused, 
then  added,  "  Father  Petre  is  always  speaking  against  you,  but 
I  do  not  listen — no,  I  do  not  listen." 

"  It  is  my  misfortune  to  be  unpopular  with  the  Catholics, 
though  I  have  done  what  might  be  for  their  service." 

"  I  do  not  listen,"  repeated  the  King  hastily  ;  he  seated  him- 
self in  the  carved  chair  beside  the  bureau.  "  But  I  must  tell  you 
one  thing,"  he  added,  after  an  instant.  "  M.  Barillon  thinketh 
I  go  too  far." 

Sunderland  remained  standing. 

"  He  hath  told  me  so,"  he  answered  quietly. 

"  What  doth  he  mean  ?  "  asked  James  eagerly,  and  with  the 
air  of  depending  entirely  on  the  other's  interpretation. 


THE  AFTERNOON  OF  JUNE  SOTH,   1688     7 

"  This,"  replied  the  Earl  suavely — "  that,  good  friend  as  His 
Christian  Majesty  is  to  you,  it  doth  not  suit  his  pride  that  you, 
sir,  should  grow  great  without  his  help — he  would  rather  have 
Your  Majesty  the  slave  than  the  master  of  the  people,  rather 
have  you  dependent  on  him  than  a  free  ally." 

"  I'll  not  be  dictated  to,"  said  the  King.  "  My  brother  was 
too  much  the  creature  of  Louis,  but  I  will  not  have  him  meddle 
in  my  affairs." 

"  M.  Barillon  doth  his  duty  to  his  master,"  answered  the  Earl. 
"  Your  Majesty  need  pay  no  attention  to  his  warnings " 

"  Warnings  ! "  echoed  the  King,  with  sullen  fire.  "  I  take  no 
warnings  from  an  Ambassador  of  France."  Then  he  sat  forward  and 
added  in  a  quick,  half-baffled  fashion,  "Yet  there  are  dangers " 

"  What  dangers,  sire  ?  " 

"  The  people  are  so  stubborn " 

"  They  complain  but  they  bow,  sire ;  and  soon  they  will  not 
even  complain." 

"Then  M.  Barillon  mentioned "  The  King  paused 

abruptly. 

"What,  sire?" 

"  My  nephew,  William." 

As  he  spoke  James  glanced  quickly  at  Sunderland,  who 
returned  the  gaze  calmly  and  mildly. 

"  My  nephew,  William — what  is  he  plotting  ?  " 

"  Plotting,  Your  Majesty  ?  " 

"  He  hath  never  been  friendly  to  me,"  broke  out  the  King 
fiercely.  "Why  did  he  refuse  his  consent  to  the  Indulgence? — 
he  who  hath  always  stood  for  toleration  ?  " 

"  As  the  head  of  the  Protestant  interest  in  Europe  he  could 
do  no  less,  sire." 

"  He  hath  suborned  my  daughter,"  continued  the  King,  in  the 
same  tone.  "  Seduced  her  from  her  duty — but  now  " — he  crossed 
himself — "  God  be  thanked,  I  have  an  heir.  I  do  not  need  to  so 
consider  these  Calvinists  " — he  gave  the  word  an  accent  of  bitter 
dislike — "  yet  I  doubt  he  meaneth  mischief " 

"  I  do  not  think  so,  sire.  His  hands  are  so  full  in  keeping  his 
own  country  afloat  he  can  scarce  have  the  time  to  meddle " 

The  King  interrupted. 

"  He  doth  meddle — his  design  is  to  drag  me  into  a  war  with 


8  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

France — I  doubt  he  hath  more  intrigues  afoot  in  England  than 
we  wot  of,  my  lord.  Did  M.  Zuylestein  come  wholly  to  con- 
gratulate us  on  the  birth  of  the  Prince  ?  He  is  over  often  closeted 
with  the  Whig  lords — and  so  was  Dyckfelt — a  knowing  man." 

Sunderland  answered  frankly. 

"His  Highness  must  have  an  interest  in  the  kingdom  of 
which  his  wife  was  till  so  lately  the  heiress,  and  I  doubt  not  that 
he  would  try  to  foster  discontents  among  the  opposition,  since  he 
can  hardly  like  the  present  policy  of  Your  Majesty,  having  all  his 
life  been  under  the  endeavour  of  persuading  England  to  join  his 
coalition  against  France — but  he  hath  not  the  power  (nor,  I 
think,  the  will)  to  disturb  Your  Majesty." 

James  smiled  reflectively. 

"  I  believe  he  hath  his  hands  full,"  he  admitted.  "  He  is  not 
so  steady  in  the  states."  His  smile  deepened  as  he  thought  on  the 
critical  situation  of  his  son-in-law,  then  vexation  conquered,  and 
he  added  sharply,  "  M.  Barillon  said  he  but  waited  a  chance  to 
openly  interfere — he  would  not  send  the  English  regiments  back, 
which  looked  ill,  and  he  is  very  friendly  with  Mr.  Sidney " 

The  King  paused. 

"Mr.  Sidney  is  your  uncle,  my  lord,"  he  added,  after  a  little, 
"and  a  close  friend  of  the  Prince  of  Orange — I  was  warned 
of  that." 

"  By  M.  de  Barillon  ?  "  asked  Sunderland  gently. 

"  Yes,  my  lord.  But  I  took  no  heed  of  it — yet  is  it  true  that 
my  Lady  Sunderland  wrote  often  to  Mr.  Sidney  when  he  was  at 
The  Hague,  and  that  you  were  privy  to  it  ?  " 

"  There  was  some  little  exchange  of  gallantries,  sire,  no  more. 
My  lady  is  close  friends  with  Mr.  Sidney,  and  would  commission 
him  for  horses,  plants,  candles,  and  such  things  as  can  be  bought 
with  advantage  at  The  Hague." 

"  And  did  she  write  to  the  Lady  Mary  ? " 

Sunderland  smiled. 

"She  had  that  honour  once — the  subject  was  a  recipe  for 
treacle  water." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  King,  in  a  relieved  tone  of  half  apology, 
"  I  am  so  hedged  about  I  begin  to  distrust  my  best  servants. 
I  must  be  short  with  M.  Barillon ;  he  maketh  too  much  of  my 
friendship  with  His  Majesty." 


THE  AFTERNOON  OF  JUNE  SOTH,  1688     9 

"That  is  the  jealousy  of  France,  sire,  that  ever  desireth  a 
hand  in  your  affairs." 

James  answered  testily. 

"  Let  them  take  care.  M.  Barillon  said  my  envoys  abroad 
had  sent  me  warning  of  what  my  nephew  designed — that  is  not 
true,  my  lord  ?  " 

"  I  have  received  no  such  letters,  sire,  and  Your  Majesty's 
foreign  correspondence  toucheth  no  hands  but  mine." 

The  King  rose  and  struck  the  bell  on  the  black  lacquer 
cabinet ;  his  exceedingly  ill-humour  was  beginning,  as  always,  to 
be  softened  by  the  influence  of  Lord  Sunderland,  who  had  more 
command  over  him  than  even  the  Jesuit,  Father  Petre,  who  was 
commonly  supposed  to  be  his  most  intimate  counsellor. 

When  the  summons  was  answered  the  King  called  for  candles, 
and  went  over  to  the  window  again. 

The  dusk  was  stained  with  the  glow  of  a  hundred  bonfires,  lit 
by  good  Protestants  in  honour  of  the  acquittal  of  the  seven 
bishops  charged  with  treason  for  offering  His  Majesty  a  petition 
against  the  reading  of  the  Declaration  of  Indulgence  from  the 
pulpits  of  the  Anglican  churches ;  the  verdict  and  the  demonstra- 
tion were  alike  hateful  to  the  King,  and  he  could  scarce  restrain 
his  furious  chagrin  as  he  saw  the  triumphant  rockets  leap  into 
the  deep  azure  sky. 

He  thought  bitterly  of  the  murmuring  army  on  Hounslow 
Heath;  had  they  been  steadfastly  loyal  he  would  hardly  have 
restrained  from  setting  them  on  to  the  defiant  capital  which  they 
had  been  gathered  together  to  overawe. 

The  candles  were  brought,  and  lit  the  rich  little  chamber  with 
a  ruddy  light  that  showed  the  glitter  of  glass  and  gilt,  lacquer 
and  silver,  the  moody  face  of  the  King,  and  the  calm  countenance 
of  his  minister. 

"My  nephew  would  never  dare,"  muttered  His  Majesty  at 

last,  "  nor  would  Mary  be  so  forgetful  of  her  duty "  He  turned 

into  the  room  again.  "  I  think  you  are  right,  my  lord ;  he  hath 
too  much  to  do  at  home.  But  I  am  glad  I  did  recall  Mr. 
Sidney — a  Republican  at  heart — who  is  like  his  brother." 

"Of  what  designs  doth  Your  Majesty  suspect  the  Prince?" 
asked  Sunderland  quietly. 

The  King  answered  hastily 


io  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"  Nothing — nothing." 

"  Doth  M.  de  Barillon,"  asked  the  Earl,  "  think  His  Highness 
might  do  what  Monmouth  did  ?  " 

At  this  mention  of  that  other  unhappy  nephew  of  his  who 
had  paid  for  his  brief  rebellion  on  Tower  Hill,  the  King's  face 
cleared  of  its  look  of  doubt. 

"  If  he  tried,"  he  answered  sombrely,  "  he  would  meet  with 
the  same  reception — by  Heaven,  he  would  !  No  gentleman  joined 
Monmouth,  none  would  join  the  Prince." 

"  'Tis  certain,"  said  Sunderland.  "  But  what  causeth  Your 
Majesty  to  imagine  His  Highness  would  attempt  so  wild  a  design 
as  an  armed  descent  on  England  ?  " 

"  He  buildeth  a  great  navy,"  remarked  James. 

"To  protect  the  States  against  France.  Reason  showeth 
that  the  suggestion  of  His  Highness'  conduct  that  M.  de  Barillon 
hath  made  is  folly.  The  Prince  is  the  servant  of  the  States ;  even 
if  he  wished,  he  could  not  use  their  forces  to  further  his  private 
ends,  and  is  not  the  Princess  daughter  to  Your  Majesty,  and 
would  she  help  in  an  act  of  rebellion  against  you  ?  " 

"No,"  replied  the  King,  "no— I  do  not  think  it.  If  the 
Dutch  do  choose  to  build  a  few  ships  am  I  to  be  stopped? 
My  Lord  Halifax,"  he  added,  with  eagerness,  "advised  the 
giving  back  of  the  city  charters  and  the  reinstatement  of  the 
Fellows  of  Magdalen — but  I  will  not — I'll  break  'em,  all  the 
disloyal  lot  of  'em." 

A  slight  smile  curved  my  lord's  fine  lips. 

"  Halifax  is  ever  for  timorous  counsels." 

"  A  moderate  man  ! "  cried  James.  "  I  dislike  your  moderate 
men — they've  damned  many  a  cause  and  never  made  one. 
I'll  have  none  of  their  sober  politics." 

"The  best  Your  Majesty  can  do,"  said  Sunderland,  "is  to 
gain  the  Dissenters,  call  a  packed  parliament  of  them  and  the 
Catholics  in  the  autumn,  pass  the  repeal  of  the  Test  Act, 
treat  French  interference  firmly,  strengthen  the  army,  and  bring 
the  Irish  to  overawe  London.  There  will  be  no  murmurs 
against  your  authority  this  time  a  year  hence." 

James  gave  my  lord  a  pleased  glance. 

"Your  views  suit  with  mine,"  he  replied.  "I'll  officer  the 
army  with  Catholics — and  look  to  those  two  judges  who 


THE  AFTERNOON  OF  JUNE   3OTH,   1688      n 

favoured  these  bishops.  We  will  remove  them  from  the 
bench." 

He  was  still  alternating  between  ill-humour  at  the  open 
display  of  feeling  on  the  occasion  of  the  public  cross  he  had 
received  in  the  matter  of  the  bishops  and  the  satisfaction  my 
lord's  wholly  congenial  counsel  gave  his  obstinate  self-confidence. 

A  certain  faith  in  himself  and  in  the  office  he  held,  a  still 
greater  trust  in  the  religion  to  which  he  was  so  blindly  devoted, 
a  tyrannical  belief  in  firm  measures  and  in  the  innate  loyalty 
of  church  and  people  made  this  son  of  Charles  i,  sitting  in 
the  very  palace  from  which  his  father  had  stepped  on  to  the 
scaffold  at  the  command  of  a  plain  gentleman  from  Hampshire, 
revolve  schemes  for  the  subjugation  of  England  more  daring 
than  Plantagenet,  Tudor,  and  Stewart  had  ventured  on  yet; 
he  desired  openly  and  violently  to  put  England  into  the  some- 
what reluctant  hands  of  the  Pope,  and  beside  this  desire  every 
other  consideration  was  as  nothing  to  His  Majesty. 

"Let  'em  shout,"  he  said.  "I  can  afford  it."  And  he 
thought  of  his  young  heir,  whose  birth  secured  the  Romish 
succession  in  England ;  an  event  that  took  the  sting  even  from 
the  acquittal  of  the  stubborn  bishops. 

"  Your  Majesty  is  indeed  a  great  and  happy  Prince,"  remarked 
my  lord,  with  that  softness  that  gave  his  compliments  the  value 
of  sincere  meaning. 

The  King  went  up  to  him,  smiled  at  him  in  his  heavy  way 
and  touched  him  affectionately  on  the  shoulder. 

"Well,  well,"  he  answered,  "you  give  good  advice,  and  I 
thank  you,  my  lord." 

He  fell  into  silence  again,  and  the  Earl  took  graceful  leave, 
left  the  cabinet  gently,  and  gently  closed  the  door. 

When  outside  in  the  corridor  he  paused  like  one  considering, 
then  went  lightly  down  the  wide  stairs. 

In  the  gallery  to  which  he  came  at  the  end  of  the  first 
flight  was  a  group  of  splendid  gentlemen  talking  together ;  my 
lord  would  have  passed  them,  but  one  came  forward  and 
stopped  him  ;  he  raised  his  eyes ;  it  was  M.  Barillon. 

"  You  have  come  from  His  Majesty  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  Earl. 

"I  do  hope  you  did  impress  on  him  the  need  for  a  great 


12  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

caution,"  said  M.  Barillon  quickly,  and  in  a  lowered  voice, 
"The  temper  of  the  People  hath  been  very  clearly  shown 
to-day." 

"  I  did  my  utmost,"  said  my  lord  ardently.  "  Advised  him 
to  make  concessions,  warned  him  that  the  Prince  was  dangerous, 
but  his  obstinate  temper  would  have  none  of  it " 

M.  Barillon  frowned. 

"  I  hope  you  were  earnest  with  him,  my  lord ;  there  is  no 
man^hath  your  influence " 

My  lord's  long  eyes  looked  steadily  into  the  Frenchman's 
face. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  you  must  be  aware  that  I  have  every  reason 
to  urge  His  Majesty  caution,  since  there  is  none  as  deep  in 
his  most  disliked  measures  as  myself,  and  if  the  Whigs  were 
to  get  the  upper  hand" — he  shrugged  gracefully — "you  know 
that  there  would  be  no  mercy  for  me." 

The  French  Ambassador  answered  hastily — 

"Not  for  an  instant  do  I  doubt  your  lordship.  Faith,  I 
know  His  Christian  Majesty  hath  no  such  friend  as  yourself 
in  England — but  I  would  impress  on  you  the  danger — things 
reach  a  crisis,  my  lord." 

He  bowed  and  returned  to  his  companions,  while  the  Earl 
passed  through  the  galleries  of  Whitehall,  filled  with  courtiers, 
newsmongers,  place-seekers,  and  politicians,  and  came  out  into 
the  courtyard  where  his  chair  waited. 

While  his  servant  was  fetching  the  sedan  my  lord  put  on 
his  laced  hat  and  lingered  on  the  step. 

A  tall  soldier  was  keeping  the  guard;  my  lord  regarded 
him,  smiled,  and  spoke. 

"  Fellow,  who  is  your  master  ?  " 

The  man  flushed,  saluted,  and  stared  awkwardly. 

"Come,"  smiled  the  Earl  whimsically.  "Whom  do  you 
serve  ?  " 

The  startled  soldier  answered  stupidly — 

"  God  and  the  King,  your  honour." 

"Ah,  very  well,"  answered  the  Earl  slowly;  he  descended 
the  steps  and  took  a  pinch  of  snuff.  "So  do  we  all — it  is 
merely  a  question  of  which  God  and  which  King." 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  EVENING  OF  JUNE  SOra,  1688 

BEFORE  entering  his  sedan,  Lord  Sunderland  gently  bade 
the  chairman  carry  him  round  the  back  ways;  that 
strange  quantity,  the  People,  that  every  statesman  must  use, 
fear,  and  obey,  was  abroad,  roused  and  dangerous  to-night, 
and  my  lord's  diplomacy  moved  delicately  among  high  places 
but  never  came  into  the  street  to  handle  the  crowd ;  he  could 
lead,  control,  cajole  kings  and  courtiers,  deal  with  continents 
on  paper,  but  he  was  powerless  before  the  People,  who  hated 
him,  and  whom  he  did  not  trouble  to  understand  ;  he  was 
aristocrat  of  aristocrat. 

He  was  now  the  most  powerful  man  in  the  three  kingdoms, 
and,  next  to  Lord  JefTeries,  the  most  detested;  he  was  the 
only  considerable  noble  (the  other  converts,  Dover  and  Salisbury, 
being  mean  men)  who  had  sacrificed  his  religion  to  the  bigotry 
of  the  King;  many  courtiers  to  whom  all  faiths  were  alike 
had  rejected  open  apostasy,  but  my  lord  had  calmly  turned 
renegade  and  calmly  accepted  the  scorn  and  comment  cast 
upon  his  action;  but  he  did  not  care  to  risk  recognition  by 
the  People  bent  on  celebrating  a  Protestant  triumph. 

A  little  before  he  had  gone  down  to  Westminster  Hall 
to  give  that  technical  evidence  against  the  bishops,  without 
which  they  could  not  have  been  tried  (for  he  was  the  only 
man  who  had  seen  Sancroft  pass  in  to  the  King  with  the  petition, 
and  therefore  the  only  man  who  could  prove  "publication  in 
the  county  of  Middlesex"),  and  it  had  taken  some  courage  to 
face  the  storm  that  had  greeted  the  King's  witness. 

My  lord   did  not  wish   for  another  such  reception,  and  as 

he  proceeded  down  the  quiet  dark  streets  he  looked  continuously 

13 


14  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

from  the  window  of  his  chair  in  anticipation  of  some  noisy 
band  of  Londoners  who  would  challenge  his  appearance. 

And  that  pale  gentleman  who  peered  out  on  to  the  bonfire- 
lit  night  had  soon  been  dragged  from  the  shadow  of  the  satin- 
lined  sedan  and  flung  down  into  the  gutter  and  trampled  on 
and  murdered,  as  was  Archbishop  Sharp  by  the  Covenanters, 
had  he  been  seen  and  recognized  by  some  of  the  bands  of 
youths  and  men  who  marched  the  streets  with  straw  Popes 
and  cardboard  devils  to  cast  to  the  flames. 

My  lord  remarked  that  in  every  window,  even  of  the  poorest 
houses,  seven  candles  burned,  the  tallest  in  the  centre  for  the 
Archbishop,  the  other  six  for  his  colleagues ;  my  lord  remarked 
the  rockets  that  leapt  above  the  houses  and  broke  in  stars  against 
the  deep  blue ;  my  lord  heard,  even  as  he  passed  through  the 
quietest  alleys,  the  continuous  murmur  of  the  People  rejoicing, 
as  one  may  in  a  backwater  hear  the  muffled  but  unsubdued 
voice  of  the  sea. 

When  he  reached  his  own  great  mansion  and  stepped  from 
the  chair,  he  saw  that  his  house  also  was  illuminated,  as  was 
every  window  in  the  great  square. 

He  went  upstairs  to  a  little  room  at  the  back,  panelled  in 
walnut  and  finely  furnished,  where  a  lady  sat  alone. 

She  was  of  the  same  type  as  my  lord — blonde,  graceful,  worn, 
and  beautiful — younger  than  he,  but  looking  no  less. 

She  was  writing  letters  at  a  side  table,  and  when  he  entered 
rose  up  instantly,  with  a  little  sigh  of  relief. 

"  'Tis  so  wild  abroad  to-night,"  she  said. 

The  Earl  laid  down  on  the  mantelshelf  the  overblown 
white  rose  he  had  brought  from  Whitehall,  and  looked  at 
his  wife. 

"I  see  we  also  rejoice  that  the  bishops  are  acquitted,"  he 
remarked. 

"The  candles,  you  mean?  It  had  to  be — all  the  windows 
had  been  broken  else.  They  needed  to  call  the  soldiers  out 
to  protect  the  Chapel  in  Sardinia  Street." 

He  seated  himself  at  the  centre  table  and  pulled  from  his 
pocket  several  opened  letters  that  he  scattered  before  him ;  his 
wife  came  and  stood  opposite,  and  they  looked  at  each  other 
intently  across  the  candles. 


THE  EVENING  OF  JUNE  SOTH,  1688       15 

"  What  doth  it  mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

"That  the  King  walketh  blindly  on  to  ruin,"  he  answered 
concisely,  with  a  wicked  flashing  glance  over  the  correspondence 
before  him. 

"  The  People  will  not  take  much  more  ?  " 

"No." 

"Well,"  said  Lady  Sunderland  restlessly,  "we  are  safe 
enough." 

He  was  turning  over  the  papers,  and  now  lowered  his  eyes 
to  them. 

"  Some  of  your  letters  to  my  Uncle  Sidney  have  been  opened," 
he  remarked.  "  This  is  M.  Barillon  his  work — the  King  taxed 
me  to-day  with  being  privy  to  the  intrigue." 

"  I  have  thought  lately  that  we  were  suspected,"  she  answered 
quickly.  "  Is  this — serious  ?  " 

"No;  I  can  do  anything  with  the  King,  and  he  is  bigot, 
blind,  and  credulous  to  a  monstrous  degree." 

"  Even  after  to-day  !  "  exclaimed  my  lady. 

"  He  believeth  the  nation  will  never  turn  against  him,"  said 
the  Earl  quietly.  "  He  thinketh  himself  secure  in  his  heir — and 
in  the  Tories." 

"Not  half  the  people  will  allow  the  child  is  the  Queen's, 
though,"  she  answered.  "  Even  the  Princess  Anne  maketh  a 
jest  of  it  with  her  women,  and  saith  His  Highness  was  smuggled 
into  Whitehall  in  a  warming-pan  by  a  Jesuit  father " 

"  So  you  have  also  heard  that  news  ?  " 

"Who  could  help  it?  'Tis  common  talk  that  'tis  but  a 
device  of  the  King  to  close  the  succession  to  the  Princess  Mary. 
And  though  you  and  I,  my  lord,  know  differently,  this  tale  is  as 
good  as  another  to  lead  the  mobile." 

The  Earl  was  slowly  burning  the  letters  before  him  by  hold- 
ing them  in  the  flame  of  the  wax-light  of  a  taper-holder,  and 
when  they  were  curled  away  casting  them  on  the  floor  and 
putting  his  red  heel  on  them. 

"  What  are  these  ?  "  asked  the  Countess,  watching  him. 

"  Part  of  His  Majesty's  foreign  correspondence,  my  dear, 
warning  him  to  have  an  eye  to  His  Highness  the  Stadtholder." 

She  laughed,  half  nervously. 

"It   seemeth  as  if  you  cut  away  the  ladder  on  which  you 


16  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

stood,"  she  said.  "If  the  King  should  suspect  too  soon — or 
the  Prince  fail  you " 

"  I  take  the  risks,"  said  Sunderland.  "  I  have  been  taking 
risks  all  my  life." 

"  But  never  one  so  large  as  this,  my  lord." 

He  had  burnt  the  last  letter  and  extinguished  the  taper ;  he 
raised  his  face,  and  for  all  his  fine  dressing  and  careful  curls  he 
looked  haggard  and  anxious  ;  the  gravity  of  his  expression  over- 
came the  impression  of  foppery  in  his  appearance;  it  was  a 
serious  man,  and  a  man  with  everything  at  stake  on  a  doubtful 
issue,  who  held  out  his  hand  to  his  wife. 

She  put  her  fingers  into  his  palm  and  stood  leaning  against 
the  tall  back  of  his  chair,  looking  down  on  him  with  those 
languishing  eyes  that  had  been  so  praised  at  the  court  of  the 
late  King,  now  a  little  marred  and  worn,  but  still  brightly  tender, 
and  to  my  lord  as  lovely  as  when  Lely  had  painted  her  beautiful 
among  the  beautiful. 

"  You  must  help  me,"  he  said,  his  court  drawl  gone,  his  voice 
sincere. 

"  Robert,"  smiled  my  lady,  "  I  have  been  helping  you  ever 
since  I  met  you." 

"'Tis  admitted,"  he  answered;  "but,  sweetheart,  you  must 
help  me  again." 

She  touched  lightly  his  thin,  powdered  cheek  with  her  free 
hand ;  her  smile  was  lovely  in  its  tenderness. 

"What  is  your  difficulty?" 

Subtle,  intricate  and  oblique  as  his  politics  always  were, 
crafty  and  cunning  as  were  his  character  and  his  actions,  with  this 
one  person  whom  he  trusted  Sunderland  was  succinct  and  direct. 

"  The  difficulty  is  the  Princess  Mary,"  he  answered. 

"  Explain,"  she  smiled. 

He  raised  his  hand  and  let  it  fall. 

"  You  understand  already.  Saying  this  child,  this  Prince  of 
Wales,  will  never  reign — the  Princess  is  the  heiress,  and  not  her 
husband,  and  after  her  is  the  Princess  Anne.  Now  it  is  not  my 
design  to  put  a  woman  on  the  throne,  nor  the  design  of  England 
— we  want  the  Prince,  and  he  is  third  in  succession " 

"  But  he  can  act  for  his  wife " 

"  His  wife — there  is  the  point.     Will  she,  when  she  under- 


THE  EVENING  OF  JUNE  SOTH,   1688       17 

standeth  clearly  what  is  afoot,  support  her  husband,  her  father,  or 
herself?" 

The  Countess  was  silent  a  little,  then  said — 

"  She  hath  no  reason  to  love  her  father ;  he  hath  never  sent 
her  so  much  as  a  present  since  she  went  to  The  Hague,  nor 
shown  any  manner  of  love  for  her." 

"Yet  he  counteth  on  her  loyalty  as  a  positive  thing — and 
hath  she  any  cause  to  love  her  husband  either  ?  " 

Lady  Sunderland's  smile  deepened. 

"  Ladies  will  love  their  husbands  whether  they  have  cause 
or  no." 

The  Earl  looked  gently  cynical. 

"  She  was  a  child  when  she  was  married,  and  the  match  was 
known  to  be  hateful  to  her ;  she  is  still  very  young,  and  a  Stewart. 
Do  you  not  think  she  is  like  to  be  ambitious  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?     Doth  it  make  so  much  difference  ?" 

He  answered  earnestly — 

"  A  great  difference.  If  there  is  a  schism  between  her  and 
the  Prince  his  hands  are  hopelessly  weakened,  for  there  would 
be  a  larger  party  for  her  pretensions  than  for  his " 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do,  dear  heart  ?  " 

"I  want  a  woman  to  manage  a  woman,"  smiled  the  Earl. 
"  The  Princess  is  seldom  in  touch  with  diplomats,  and  when  she 
is — either  by  design  or  simplicity — she  is  very  reserved." 

"  She  is  no  confidante  of  mine,"  answered  the  Countess.  "  I 
only  remember  her  as  a  lively  child  who  wept  two  days  to  leave 
England,  and  that  was  ten  years  ago." 

"  Still,"  urged  my  lord,  "  you  can  find  some  engine  to  do  me 
this  great  service — to  discover  the  mind  of  the  Princess." 

Lady  Sunderland  paused  thoughtfully. 

"  Do  you  remember  Basilea  Gage  ?  "  she  asked  at  length. 

"  One  of  the  maids  of  honour  to  Her  Majesty  when  she  was 
Duchess  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  since  married  to  a  Frenchman  who  died,  and  now  in 
Amsterdam — she  and  the  Princess  Royal  were  children  together 
— I  knew  her  too.  Should  I  set  her  on  this  business  ?  " 

"  Would  she  be  apt  and  willing  ?  " 

"She  is  idle,   clever,   and  serious — but,   my  dear  lord,  a 
Romanist." 
2 


1 8  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

The  Earl  laughed  at  his  wife,  who  laughed  back. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said.  "  I  think  she  will  be  a  proper  person 
for  this  matter." 

He  put  the  long  tips  of  his  fingers  together  and  reflected ; 
he  loved,  of  all  things,  oblique  and  crooked  methods  of  working 
his  difficult  and  secret  intrigues. 

When  he  spoke  it  was  with  clearness  and  decision. 

"Tell  this  lady  (what  she  must  know  already)  that  the 
King's  measures  in  England  have  forced  many  malcontents  to  look 
abroad  to  the  Princess  Royal,  the  next  heir,  and  her  husband  to 
deliver  them  from  an  odious  rule ;  say  that  His  Majesty,  however,  is 
confident  that  his  daughter  would  never  forget  her  obedience,  and 
that,  if  it  came  to  a  crisis  between  her  father  and  her  husband, 
she  would  hinder  the  latter  from  any  design  on  England  and 
refuse  her  sanction  to  any  attempt  on  his  part  to  disturb  His 
Majesty — say  this  requireth  confirmation,  and  that  for  the  ease 
and  peace  of  the  government  (alarmed  by  the  late  refusal  of 
Her  Highness  to  concur  in  the  Declaration  of  Indulgence)  and 
the  reassurance  of  the  mind  of  the  King,  it  would  be  well  that  we 
should  have  private  knowledge  of  the  disposition  of  Her  High- 
ness, which,  you  must  say,  you  trust  will  be  for  the  advantage  of 
the  King  and  his  just  measures." 

The  Countess  listened  attentively ;  she  was  seated  now  close 
to  her  husband,  a  pretty-looking  figure  in  white  and  lavender, 
half  concealed  in  the  purple  satin  cushions  of  the  large 
chair. 

"  I  will  write  by  the  next  packet,"  she  answered  simply. 

"  So,"  smiled  the  Earl,  "  we  will  use  the  zeal  of  a  Romanist 
to  discover  the  knowledge  we  need  for  Protestant  ends " 

As  he  spoke  they  were  interrupted  by  a  servant  in  the 
gorgeous  liveries  that  bore  witness,  as  everything  else  in  the 
noble  mansion,  both  to  my  lord's  extravagance  and  my  lady's 
good  management. 

"  Mr.  Sidney  was  below — would  his  Lordship  see  him  ?  " 

"  Go  you  down  to  him,"  said  the  Earl,  looking  at  his  wife. 
"  You  can  make  my  excuses." 

He  dismissed  the  servant;  my  lady  rose. 

"What  am  I  to  say?"  she  asked,  like  one  waiting  for  a 
lesson  to  be  imparted. 


THE  EVENING  OF  JUNE   30x11,   1688       19 

He  patted  the  slim  white  hand  that  rested  on  the  polished 
table  near  his. 

"  Find  out  all  you  can,  Anne,  but  be  cautious — speak  of  our 
great  respect  for  His  Highness,  but  make  no  definite  promises — 
discover  how  deep  they  go  in  their  commerce  with  him." 

Again  they  exchanged  that  look  of  perfect  understanding 
that  was  more  eloquent  of  the  feeling  between  them  than  en- 
dearments or  soft  speeches,  and  the  Countess  went  down  to  the 
lavish  withdrawing-room,  as  fine  as  the  chambers  in  Whitehall, 
where  Mr.  Sidney,  uncle  of  my  lord  (but  no  older)  waited. 

They  met  as  long  friends,  and  with  that  air  of  gracious  com- 
pliment and  pleasure  in  each  other's  company  which  the  fact  of 
one  being  a  beautiful  woman  and  the  other  a  man  of  famous 
gallantry  had  always  given  to  their  intercourse ;  if  every  jot  of 
my  lady's  being  had  not  been  absorbed  in  her  husband  she 
might  have  been  in  love  with  Mr.  Sidney,  and  if  Mr.  Sidney  had 
not  followed  a  fresh  face  every  day  of  the  year  he  might  have 
found  leisure  to  fall  in  love  with  my  lady ;  as  it  was,  he  was 
very  constant  to  her  friendship,  but  had  not,  for  that,  forgotten 
the  lovely  creature  she  was,  and  she  knew  it  and  was  pleased ; 
in  their  hearts  each  laughed  a  little  at  the  other  and  the 
situation ;  but  my  lady  had  the  more  cause  to  laugh,  because 
while  Mr.  Sidney  always  dealt  ingenuously  with  her,  she  was 
all  the  while  using  him  to  further  her  husband's  policies,  and 
there  was  not  a  pleasant  word  she  gave  him  that  was  not  paid 
for  in  information  that  she  turned  to  good  account. 

To-day  she  found  him  less  the  composed  gallant  than 
usual ;  he  seemed  roused,  disturbed,  excited. 

"  The  town  to-day ! "  he  exclaimed,  after  their  first  greet- 
ings. "  Here  is  the  temper  of  the  people  plainly  declared  at 
last ! " 

The  Countess  seated  herself  with  her  back  to  the  candles  on 
the  gilt  side-table  and  her  face  towards  Mr.  Sidney ;  he  took  his 
place  on  the  wand-bottomed  stool  by  the  empty  hearth,  where 
the  great  brass  dogs  stood  glimmering. 

The  windows  were  open,  admitting  the  pleasant,  intangible 
sense  of  summer  and  the  distant  changing  shouts  and  clamour 
of  the  crowd. 

With    a    kindly  smile    Lady   Sunderland  surveyed  Henry 


20  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

Sidney,  who  without  her  advantage  of  the  softening  shadows 
showed  a  countenance  finely  lined  under  the  thick  powder  he 
wore ;  man  of  fashion,  of  pleasure,  attractive,  mediocre  in  talents, 
supreme  in  manners  and  tact,  owning  no  deep  feelings  save 
hatred  to  the  King,  whose  intrigues  had  brought  his  brother  to 
the  block  in  the  last  reign,  and  a  certain  private  loyalty  to  the 
laws  and  faith  of  England,  Henry  Sidney  betrayed  his  character 
in  every  turn  of  his  handsome  face  and  figure.  A  man  good- 
humoured,  sweet-tempered  but  lazy,  yet  sometimes,  as  now,  to 
be  roused  to  the  energy  and  daring  of  better  men.  In  person  he 
was  noticeable  among  a  court  remarkable  for  handsome  men; 
he  had  been  in  youth  the  most  famous  beau  of  his  time,  and 
still  in  middle  age  maintained  that  reputation. 

His  political  achievements  had  not  been  distinguished.  Sent 
as  envoy  to  the  States,  he  had  so  managed  to  ingratiate  himself 
with  the  Prince  of  Orange  as,  in  spite  of  the  opposition  of 
the  English  court,  to  be  appointed  commander  of  the  English 
Regiment  in  the  Dutch  service,  and  the  mouthpiece  of  His 
Highness  to  the  English  Whigs. 

James,  who  had  always  disliked  him,  had  recalled  him  from 
The  Hague  despite  the  protests  of  the  Stadtholder,  and  he  had 
found  himself  so  out  of  favour  with  Whitehall  as  to  deem  it 
wiser  to  travel  in  Italy  for  a  year,  though  he  had  never  relaxed 
his  correspondence  either  with  the  Prince  or  the  great  Protestant 
nobles  who  had  been  thrown  into  the  opposition  by  the  im- 
prudent actions  of  the  King. 

He  was  in  London  now  at  some  risk,  as  Lady  Sunderland 
knew,  and  she  waited  rather  curiously  to  hear  what  urgency  had 
brought  him  back  to  the  centre  of  intrigue. 

His  acceptance  of  her  graceful  excuses  for  the  Earl  was  as 
formal  as  her  offering  of  them ;  so  long  ago  had  it  been  under- 
stood that  she  was  always  the  intermediary  between  her  astute 
Jord  and  the  powerful  Whig  opposition  of  which  Mr.  Sidney  was 
secretly  so  active  a  member. 

"  You  and  your  friends  will  be  glad  of  this,"  she  said. 

He  looked  at  her  a  hesitating  half  second,  then  replied 
with  an  unusual  sincerity  in  the  tones  generally  so  smooth  and 
expressionless. 

"  Every  Catholic  who   showeth  his   face   is  insulted,  and  a 


THE  EVENING  OF  JUNE  SOTH,  1688      21 

beadle  hath  been  killed  for  endeavouring  to  defend  a  Romish 
chapel — the  People  are  up  at  last." 

"  I  know,"  she  answered  calmly.  "  I  feared  that  my  lord 
would  not  be  safe  returning  from  Whitehall." 

"  If  they  had  seen  him,  by  Heaven,  he  would  not  have  been ! " 
said  Mr.  Sidney.  He  spoke  as  if  he  understood  the  people's 
point  of  view.  Lax  and  careless  as  he  was  himself,  Sunderland's 
open  and  shameless  apostasy  roused  in  his  mind  some  faint 
shadow  of  the  universal  hatred  and  scorn  that  all  England 
poured  on  the  renegade. 

My  lady  read  him  perfectly ;  she  smiled. 

"  How  are  you  going  to  use  this  temper  in  the  People  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  Is  it  to  die  out  with  the  flames  that  consume  the  straw 
Popes,  or  is  it  to  swell  to  something  that  may  change  the  face  of 
Europe?" 

Mr.  Sidney  rose  as  if  his  restless  mood  could  not  endure 
his  body  to  sit  still. 

"  It  may  change  the  dynasty  of  England,"  he  said. 

My  lady  kept  her  great  eyes  fixed  on  him. 

"  You  think  so  ?  "  she  responded  softly. 

His  blonde  face  was  strengthened  into  a  look  of  resolve  and 
triumph. 

"  The  King  hath  gone  too  far."  He  spoke  in  an  abrupt  manner 
new  to  him.  "  No  bribed  electorate  or  packed  parliament  could 
force  these  measures — as  we  have  seen  to-day."  There  was,  as  he 
continued,  an  expression  in  his  eyes  that  reminded  the  Countess 
of  his  brother  Algernon,  republican  and  patriot.  "Is  it  not 
strange  that  he  hath  forgotten  his  father  so  soon,  and  his  own 
early  exile  ?  "  he  said. 

"  His  over-confidence  playeth  into  your  hands,"  she  answered. 

He  gave  a  soft  laugh,  approached  her,  and  said,  in  his  old 
caressing  tones — 

"  Frankly,  my  lady — how  far  will  the  Earl  go  ?  " 

"With  whom?"  she  smiled. 

"  With  us — the  Prince  of  Orange  and  the  Whigs,  ay — and  the 
honest  Tories  too." 

She  played  with  the  tassels  of  the  stiff  cushion  behind 
her. 

"My  lord  hath  the  greatest  affection  and  duty  for  His 


22  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

Highness,  the  greatest  admiration  for  him,  the  greatest  hopes 
in  him " 

"  Come,  Madarn,"  he  responded,  "  we  are  old  friends  —  I 
want  to  know  my  lord  his  real  mind." 

"  I  have  told  it  you,"  she  said,  lifting  candid  eyes,  "  as  far  as 
even  I  know  it " 

"You  must  know  that  His  Highness  hath  in  his  desk 
letters  from  almost  every  lord  in  England,  assuring  him  of 
admiration  and  respect  —  what  was  M.  Dyckfelt  over  here 
for — and  M.  Zuylestein? — we  want  to  know  what  the  Earl 
will  do." 

"What  are  the  others — doing •?"  asked  the  Countess  lightly. 

He  saw  the  snare,  and  laughed. 

"  My  hand  is  always  for  you  to  read,  but  there  are  others 
seated  at  this  game,  and  I  may  not  disclose  the  cards." 

My  lady  lent  forward. 

"You  cannot,"  she  said,  in  the  same  almost  flippant  tone, 
"  expect  my  lord  to  declare  himself  openly  a  Whig  ?  " 

"  He  might,  though,  declare  himself  secretly  our  friend." 

"  Perhaps,"  she  admitted,  then  was  silent. 

Intimate  as  he  was  with  the  Countess,  Mr.  Sidney  was  not 
close  with  her  lord,  and  felt  more  than  a  little  puzzled  by  that 
statesman's  attitude.  Sunderland,  he  knew,  was  in  receipt  of  a 
pension,  probably  a  handsome  pension,  from  France;  he  was 
loathed  by  the  Whigs  and  caressed  by  the  King;  as  Lord 
President  and  First  Secretary  he  held  the  highest  position  in 
the  Kingdom ;  the  emoluments  of  his  offices,  with  what  he  made 
by  selling  places,  titles,  pardons,  and  dignities,  were  known  to  be 
enormous;  his  conversion  to  the  Church  of  Rome  had  given 
him  almost  unlimited  influence  over  James;  and  his  great  ex- 
perience, real  talents,  and  insinuating  manners  made  him  as 
secure  in  his  honours  as  any  man  could  hope  to  be ;  yet  through 
his  wife  he  had  dallied  with  the  Whigs,  written,  as  Sidney  knew, 
to  the  Prince  of  Orange,  and  held  out  very  distinct  hopes  that  he 
would,  at  a  crisis,  help  the  Protestants. 

Certainly  he  had  not  gone  far,  and  it  was  important,  almost 
vital,  to  the  opposition  that  he  should  go  farther,  for  he  had  it  in 
his  power  to  render  services  which  no  other  man  could ;  he  only 
had  the  ear  of  James,  the  control  of  the  foreign  correspondence, 


THE  EVENING  OF  JUNE  SOTH,   1688      23 

the  entire  confidence  of  M.  Barillon,  and  he  alone  was  fitted  to 
mislead  the  King  and  the  Ambassador  as  to  the  schemes  of  their 
enemies,  as  he  alone  would  be  able  to  open  their  eyes  to  the  full 
extent  of  the  ramifications  of  the  Protestant  plots. 

It  was  the  Countess  who  broke  the  silence,  and  her  words 
were  what  she  might  have  chosen  could  she  have  read  Mr. 
Sidney's  thoughts. 

"My  lord,  who  is  the  greatest  man  in  the  kingdom,  hath 
more  to  stake  and  lose  than  you  Whigs  who  are  already  in 
disgrace  with  His  Majesty." 

"  I  know  that  very  well,"  he  answered ;  "  but  if  the  govern- 
ment fell,  remember  there  are  some  who  would  fall  with  it 
beyond  the  hope  of  ever  climbing  again.  One  is  my  Lord 
Jefferies,  another  my  Lord  Sunderland." 

She  looked  at  him  calmly. 

"  They  are  both  well  hated  by  the  people,"  she  said.  "  I  do 
admit  it."  She  leant  forward  in  her  chair.  "  Do  you  think  it 
would  be  worth  while  for  my  lord  to  stake  the  great  post  he 
holdeth  for  the  chance  of  safety  if  .  .  ." 

She  hesitated,  and  he  supplied  the  words. 

— "  if  there  was  a  revolution,"  he  said. 

"  Do  you  talk  of  revolutions  ! "  she  exclaimed. 

His  fair  face  flushed. 

"  Listen,"  he  answered  briefly. 

My  lady  turned  her  delicate  head  towards  the  window. 
Beyond  her  brocade  curtains  lay  the  dark  shape  of  London, 
overhung  with  a  glow  of  red  that  stained  the  summer  sky.  She 
sat  silent.  Mr.  Sidney  stood  close  to  her,  and  she  could  hear 
his  quick  breathing ;  he,  as  she,  was  listening  to  the  bells,  the 
shouting,  the  crack  of  fireworks,  now  louder,  now  fainter,  but 
a  continuous  volume  of  sound. 

"The  People "  said  Mr.  Sidney. 

"  Do  they  make  revolutions  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  If  there  is  a  man  to  guide  them  they  do * 

"Well?" 

"  Before,  there  was  Cromwell." 

"And  now " 

"  Now  there  is  William  of  Orange." 

My  lady  rose. 


24  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"His  Highness,"  she  said  quietly  but  firmly,  "may  be 
assured  that  he  hath  a  friend,  a  secret  friend  in  my  lord." 

Mr.  Sidney  looked  anxiously  into  her  eyes. 

"  May  I  rely  on  that  ?  " 

She  smiled  rather  sadly. 

"  You,  at  least,  can  trust  me." 

Mr.  Sidney  bowed  over  her  slender  hand. 

"  You  are  a  sweet  friend  and  a  clever  woman,  but " 

Lady  Sunderland  interrupted  him. 

"I  am  sincere  to-night.  We  see  our  dangers.  You  shall 
hear  from  me  at  The  Hague." 


CHAPTER    III 
THE  NIGHT  OF  JUNE  30m,  1688 

SOME  hours  after  his  parting  with  Lady  Sunderland,  Mr. 
Sidney  left  a  modest  house  in  Greg  Street,  Soho  Fields,  in 
company  with  a  common  tarpaulin,  whose  rough  clothes  were  in 
strong  contrast  to  the  rich  appointments  of  the  notable  beau  he 
accompanied. 

It  was  a  fine  night,  but  cloudy.  The  two  men  proceeded  in 
silence  towards  Gerrard  Street,  the  sailor  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  Mr.  Sidney  swinging  his  cane. 

Every  house  they  passed  had  the  seven  candles  in  the 
windows,  and  the  sound  of  bells  and  shouting  was  as  persistent 
as  it  had  been  in  the  drawing-room  of  Sunderland  House ;  the 
street  was  empty  save  for  a  few  wandering  link-boys  and  beggars. 

As  they,  walking  rapidly  and  steadily,  approached  St.  Martin- 
in-the-Fields,  the  feeble  rays  of  the  oil-lamps  over  every  tenth 
door,  that  only  served  to  illuminate  the  signs  and  cast  great 
shadows  from  the  passers-by,  were  absorbed  in  a  red  glare  that 
touched  the  brick  fronts  of  the  precise  houses  with  a  deep  glow. 

"  A  bonfire,"  remarked  Mr.  Sidney. 

The  tarpaulin  answered  in  the  accents  of  a  gentleman. 

"A  Pope-burning — had  we  not  best  take  another  way?" 

As  Mr.  Sidney  hesitated  the  other  added,  with  a  laugh — 

"After  all,  is  it  not  a  good  omen?  Let  us  see  this 
martyrdom,"  and  he  pressed  into  the  confines  of  the  crowd 
gathered  round  an  enormous  bonfire,  which  blazed  in  front  of 
the  church  steps. 

Mr.  Sidney  followed,  and  the  two  found  themselves  absorbed 
into  the  multitude  of  apprentices,  shopkeepers,  clerks,  and 
citizens  of  all  descriptions,  who  were  engaged  in  celebrating  the 
acquittal  of  the  bishops  by  burning  His  Holiness  in  effigy. 


26  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

For  awhile  they  were  unnoticed  in  the  general  excitement, 
then  Mr.  Sidney's  appearance  was  remarked.  His  plumed  hat, 
his  sword,  his  curling  peruke,  and  the  rich  velvet  mantle  that 
concealed  his  person  instantly  told  them  that  he  was  not  of  their 
class.  Suspicion  was  roused  that  he  was  a  spy  of  the  Court,  and 
they  began  to  rudely  jostle  him  ;  but  the  sailor,  who  kept  closely 
beside  him,  laughed  good-humouredly,  and  cried — 

"  Gently,  my  friends.  We  are  good  Protestants  come  to  see 
the  burning  of  the  Devil  and  the  Pope." 

"Sure,"  came  a  quick  answer,  "if  you  were  Popish  dogs 
you  would  scarce  be  here  to-night ! " 

Sidney  smiled  at  the  eager  young  man  who  spoke. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  Long  live  the  King,  the  Church,  and  the 
Laws — eh,  my  friend  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  so  much  about  the  first — but  all  my  heart 
the  second  and  third  ! " 

The  sailor  looked  sharply  at  the  speaker,  who  was  a  youth  of 
two-  or  three-and-twenty,  very  plainly  dressed,  almost  shabby, 
with  a  keen,  dark  face,  intelligent,  ardent  eyes,  and  a  quantity 
of  untidy  curly  hair.  He  seemed  to  be  a  student  or  clerk,  and 
was  obviously  the  leading  spirit  of  a  band  of  youths  of  his  own 
age,  who  were  making  most  of  the  noise  and  clamour. 

He  in  his  turn  closely  scrutinized  the  sailor,  then  said,  in 
abrupt  tones  of  friendliness — 

"  I'll  get  you  through.  You  and  the  gentleman  get  behind 
me,  and  I'll  make  'em  give  away " 

With  the  quick  energy  that  seemed  his  characteristic  he 
shouldered  his  way  through  the  press  and  forced  a  passage  for 
Mr.  Sidney  and  the  sailor,  bringing  them  to  the  steps  of  the 
church,  where  they  had  a  good  view  over  the  crowd,  and  stood 
directly  behind  the  bonfire. 

He  paused,  a  little  breathless  with  fighting  through  the 
throng,  and  with  blows  given  and  taken,  and  asked  Mr.  Sidney, 
whose  splendour  seemed  to  somewhat  overawe  him,  if  he  had 
ever  seen  a  Pope-burning  before. 

"Never,"  smiled  that  gentleman;  but  the  sailor  added 
instantly — 

"  I  have,  many  a  time ;  'tis  the  finest  fun  in  the  world." 

The  young  man  looked  at  him  with  the  sharp  suspicious 


THE  NIGHT  OF  JUNE  SOTH,   1688          27 

curiosity  of  youth.  He  was  quick  to  notice  the  difference  between 
speech  and  dress,  and  his  instant's  glance  further  confused  him. 
The  strong  light  of  the  bonfire  showed  a  resolute-looking  man, 
dressed  in  the  coarse  worn  clothes  of  a  common  sailor,  but  un- 
mistakeably  a  gentleman.  He  seemed  amused  and  interested.  A 
pleasant  smile  lit  his  face,  and  his  grey  eyes  were  bright  and 
self-contained. 

"  You  were  like  to  be  clapt  up  if  the  watch  caught  you  at 
this,"  he  said. 

The  youth  was  gloriously  scornful. 

"  The  watch !  Do  you  think  we  would  disperse  for  a 
regiment  ?  " 

"Look  out  for  the  regiments  though,"  smiled  the  sailor. 
"  There  are  sixteen  thousand  men  on  Hounslow  Heath." 

"  How  many  of  'em  would  take  arms  against  the  city  ?  "  was 
the  instant  retort.  "They  too  are  good  Protestants." 

"  I  perceive  that  you  are  something  of  a  Politic,"  said  Mr. 
Sidney  ;  and  then  all  further  remark  was  cut  short  by  the  arrival 
of  the  procession  carrying  the  Pope,  at  sight  of  which  an  almost 
solemn  hush  fell  on  the  crowd,  who  stopped  supplying  the  bonfire 
with  squibs,  oil,  and  tar,  and  drew  back  in  close  ranks  before  the 
steps  of  the  church. 

The  Pope  was  a  huge  figure  of  straw  with  a  wax  face,  carried 
in  a  chair  on  the  shoulders  of  four  men.  He  was  clothed  in  an 
expensive  scarlet  silk  robe,  and  wore  on  his  head  a  tiara  of 
painted  pasteboard,  decorated  with  sparkling  glass ;  his  scornful 
and  saturnine  face,  which,  if  meant  for  the  reigning  pontiff,  was 
a  cruel  libel  on  the  most  honourable  and  simple  of  men,  was 
turned  a  little  to  one  side  in  the  action  of  listening  to  a  huge 
black-horned  Devil  who  was  busily  whispering  in  his  ear,  one 
stiff  hand  was  raised  with  two  fingers  lifted  in  blessing,  and  the 
other  (both  formed  of  white  gloves  stuffed,  with  glass  beads  on 
the  backs)  hung  limply  by  his  side. 

The  young  man  who  had  befriended  Mr.  Sidney  and  his 
friend  gave  a  whistling  signal,  upon  which  the  greater  number 
of  the  crowd  broke  into  verses  of  a  doggerel  song  against 
Popery  and  the  bishops.  As  each  sang  different  words  and 
tune  the  result  was  a  mere  lusty  din,  in  which  not  a  syllable 
was  distinguishable;  nevertheless  the  hundred  voices  of  hate, 


28  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

derision,  scorn,  and  triumph  addressing  the  dumb  grotesque 
image  of  a  loathed  religion  had  an  impressive  significance  and 
contained  a  deep  warning. 

For  these  were  not  isolated  nor  feeble  voices — the  will 
and  purpose  of  a  great  nation  echoed  in  them — nor  were  they 
the  voices  of  mere  fanaticism,  but  the  cries  of  protest  raised 
by  a  jealous  people  whose  liberties  had  been  struck  at  and 
broken. 

In  the  faces  the  leaping  flames  brought  into  relief  against 
the  surrounding  darkness  might  be  traced  that  fearless  English 
spirit  that  would  not  for  long  own  a  master ;  in  the  coarse  jeers, 
hoots,  and  hisses  might  be  discerned  that  devotion  to  the 
reformed  faith  that  had  united  Anglican  and  Dissenter  (despite 
the  high  bid  the  King  had  made  for  the  favour  of  the  latter), 
in  stern  and  unyielding  opposition  to  the  Romanist  worship  that 
was  in  vain  being  forced  on  them. 

Mr.  Sidney  wondered  if  James  could  see  these  faces  and 
hear  these  voices  it  would  give  him  pause;  if  even  his  hard 
bigotry  would  not  learn  something  of  the  temper  of  a  strong 
people  roused.  It  seemed  incredible  that  could  the  King  see 
these  people  now  he  could  forget  Cromwell  and  his  own  exiled 
youth. 

The  dummy  Pope  was  lowered  from  his  seat  of  mock  triumph 
and  pitched  forward  into  the  centre  of  the  flames,  the  Devil 
clinging  to  him,  at  which  a  savage  roar  rose  as  if  real  flesh  and 
blood  had  been  sacrificed  to  appease  fierce  passions. 

Mr.  Sidney  a  little  drew  back  against  the  flame-flushed  pillars 
behind  him.  As  the  spreading  fire  scorched  his  face  so  the 
temper  of  the  crowd  put  a  kind  of  awe  into  his  heart. 

"Who  is  to  manage  these?"  he  murmured.  He  was  no 
statesman.  Then  he  pulled  his  companion  by  the  sleeve. 
"  There  was  a  man  killed  to-day — let  us  get  on " 

But  the  sailor,  with  his  arms  folded  across  his  breast,  was 
watching  the  bonfire,  in  the  heart  of  which  the  Pope  appeared  to 
be  writhing  as  he  shrivelled,  while  his  wax  face  ran  into  one 
great  tear,  his  tiara  shrunk  and  disappeared,  and  the  Devil,  a 
black  patch  in  the  redness,  emitted  horrid  fumes  of  sulphur  as 
he  was  consumed. 

"  'Tis  a  pretty  show,"  he  said  briefly. 


THE  NIGHT  OF  JUNE  SOTH,   1688.         29 

"  But  one  not  pleasing  to  the  King's  Majesty,  do  you  think  ? ' 
flashed  the  dark  youth  who  had  been  their  guide. 

"No,"  smiled  the  other.  "I  think  it  would  grieve  His 
Majesty  even  more  than  the  acquittal  of  the  holy  fathers " 

The  young  man  laughed ;  he  seemed  very  excited. 

"  See  you,  sir,  if  you  wait  awhile  you  will  see  a  warming-pan 
burnt — with  the  pretended  Prince  of  Wales,  that  Popish  brat, 
within  ! " 

Mr.  Sidney  interrupted. 

"  We  have  a  boat  to  catch  at  Gravesend,  if  you  could  make  a 
passage  for  us,  my  friend " 

More  than  a  little  flattered  at  being  thus  addressed  by  so 
fine  a  gentleman,  the  youth,  by  various  shouted  commands  to 
his  companions,  elbowings  and  blows  administered  in  a  lively 
manner,  steered  Mr.  Sidney  and  the  sailor  out  of  the  crowd 
with  the  same  dexterity  that  had  guided  them  to  the  church 
steps. 

On  the  confines  of  the  press,  Mr.  Sidney,  rather  breathless, 
shook  out  his  mantle  and  adjusted  his  hat.  The  glow  from  the 
bonfire  cast  their  shadows  long  and  leaping  over  the  grass.  In 
the  distance  towards  the  archery  fields  and  the  Mall  were  other 
crowds  and  processions  to  be  seen  passing  in  and  out  of  the 
trees,  and  another  bonfire  was  burning  in  front  of  the  mansion  of 
the  Protestant  Northumberlands.  The  air  was  full  of  the  harsh 
colour  of  artificial  light,  the  smell  of  powder  and  tar,  of  burning 
rag  and  oil,  belching  smoke  and  the  crack  of  squib,  rocket  and 
bomb,  mingled  with  noisy  shouting  of  anti-Popish  songs  and 
hoarse  cheers  for  the  bishops,  the  Dissenters,  and  the  Protestant 
succession. 

"This  must  be  pleasant  music  at  Whitehall,"  remarked  the 
sailor,  with  good-humoured  indifference.  He  was  standing  now 
full  in  the  light  of  the  lantern  at  the  corner  of  the  church,  and  the 
young  man,  who  had  been  looking  at  him  with  great  eagerness 
exclaimed  softly — 

"  It  is  Admiral  Herbert ! " 

He  turned  instantly. 

"  My  name  is  not  for  public  hearing  to-night,"  he  said  quickly 
"  And,  God  of  Heaven,  boy,  how  did  you  know  me  ?  " 

The  young  man  flushed. 


30  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"  You  used  to  come  to  the  'Rose'  in  Charing  Cross — near 
here,  you  remember?  My  uncle  kept  it " 

Arthur  Herbert  smiled. 

"  Yes — I  remember ;  and  who  are  you  ?  " 

"A  scholar  at  St.  John's  now,"  answered  the  youth,  in  the 
same  eager,  excited  way  ;  "  that  is  thanks  to  my  Lord  Dorset " 

"  Why,  I  recall,"  said  Mr.  Sidney ;  "  'tis  my  lord's  last  genius, 
sure — he  who  wrote  a  satire  against  the  court  last  year  with  one 
Charley  Montague — a  parody  on  Mr.  Dryden's  bombast,  which 
sorely  vexed  him " 

"  The  same,  sir,"  answered  the  young  man,  flushing  deeper 
with  pleasure.  "  Lord  Dorset  is  the  Maecenas  of  the  age,  as  I 
have  truly  found " 

"  Well,"  said  the  Admiral,  "  you  seem  a  likely  spark — stick  to 
your  Pope-burning  and  you'll  find  yourself  at  Court  yet — that  is 
good  advice.  What  is  your  name  ?  I  don't  read  poetry." 

"  I  don't  write  it,  sir,"  retorted  the  other,  with  an  engaging 
touch  of  impudence.  "  Only  verses — a  little  satire  and  a  little 
truth." 

Arthur  Herbert  laughed. 

"  Well,  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"Prior,  sir — Matthew  Prior." 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Prior,  and  remember  that  you  did  not 
see  me  to-night — silence,  mind,  even  to  your  friends  the  Whigs." 

"  I  know  enough  for  that,  sir,"  responded  the  student  simply. 
He  took  off  a  battered  hat  with  a  courtly  air  of  respect,  and  dis- 
creetly turned  away  and  slipped  back  into  the  crowd. 

The  two  gentlemen  continued  their  way. 

"  We  run  some  risk,  you  observe,"  smiled  Mr.  Sidney.  "  Who 
would  have  reckoned  on  that  chance  ?  " 

"  None  but  good  Protestants  are  abroad  to-night,"  answered 
the  Admiral ;  "  but  I  doubt  if  you  will  be  safe  in  London  much 
longer " 

"I  will  come  to  The  Hague  as  soon  as  I  dare — tell  His 
Highness  so  much ;  but  I  would  not  have  my  going  prejudice 
those  who  must  remain  at  their  posts — it  would  give  a  colour  to 
rumours  if  I  was  to  return  to  The  Hague " 

"My  Lord  Sunderland  manageth  the  rumours,"  smiled 
Herbert. 


THE  NIGHT  OF  JUNE  30111,   1688          31 

"  My  Lord  Sunderland,"  repeated  Mr.  Sidney  reflectively,  "  is 
difficult  stuff  to  handle.  I  tell  you  plainly  that  I  do  not  know 
how  far  he  will  go." 

"  But  he  will  not  betray  us  ?  " 

"  No — I  can  go  warrant  for  that." 

They  turned  down  the  Strand  and  walked  along  the  river, 
which  was  lively  with  water-men  and  boats  of  music  and  great 
barges. 

"  M.  Zuylestein  will  be  sending  Edward  Russell  with  further 
news,"  said  Mr.  Sidney.  "  Look  out  for  him,  I  pray  you,  at  The 
Hague." 

"  Edward  Russell  must  be  weary  of  running  to  and  fro 
England  and  Holland,"  remarked  Herbert.  "  And  how  long  will 
the  King  allow  M.  Zuylestein  to  drill  parties  against  him  ?  " 

Mr.  Sidney  answered  shortly. 

"Mr.  Russell  hath  my  reason  of  hatred  to  the  house  of 
Stewart,  and  as  for  M.  Zuylestein  he  is  too  clever  to  give  His 
Majesty  a  chance  to  interfere." 

They  paused  at  one  of  the  landing  stages,  and  Herbert 
shouted  to  an  idle  pair  of  oars  that  was  looking  for  custom. 

"  Now,  farewell,"  he  said,  "  lest  you  shame  my  appearance — I 
shall  be  at  Gravesend  to-night  and,  given  fair  wind,  at  Maasland- 
sluys  in  a  day."  He  pressed  Mr.  Sidney's  hand,  smiled,  and 
hastened  down  the  steps. 

With  a  sobbing  swish  of  water  the  boat  drew  up  ;  the  oars 
clanked  in  the  rowlocks.  Mr.  Sidney  watched  the  tall  figure  in 
the  red  breeches  of  the  sailor  step  in,  look  back  and  wave  his 
hand ;  then  the  boat  joined  the  others  that  covered  the  dark  river, 
and  was  soon  lost  to  sight  in  the  cross  glimmers  of  lanterns  and 
half-seen  shapes. 

Mr.  Sidney  remained  gazing  down  the  Thames — behind  him 
the  great  capital  rejoicing  with  their  bells  and  rockets  and  bon- 
fires, their  shouting  and  singing,  behind  him  the  luxurious  palace 
where  the  King  must  be  enduring  a  sharp  humiliation.  Mr. 
Sidney  smiled;  he  thought,  with  a  keenness  rare  in  his  soft 
nature,  of  his  brother  who  had  laid  down  his  life  on  Tower  Hill 
through  the  intrigues  of  the  Duke  of  York,  now  King.  It  aston- 
ished himself  how  much  the  memory  of  that  injury  rankled.  He 
had  not  loved  his  brother  to  half  the  measure  that  he  hated  the 


32  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

man  who  had  brought  him  to  death.  Indolent  in  mind  and 
temper,  he  loathed  cruelty,  and  the  blood  of  Algernon  Sidney 
was  not  the  only  witness  to  the  cruelty  of  James  Stewart.  Mr. 
Sidney  had  seen  the  look  on  the  fair  face  of  Lord  Monmouth 
when  he  landed  at  the  Tower  stairs ;  he  had  seen  well-born  men 
and  women,  implicated  only  indirectly  in  the  late  rebellion, 
shipped  off  to  Virginia  as  slaves,  while  the  Italian  Queen  and  her 
women  quarrelled  over  the  price  of  them ;  he  had  seen,  in  this 
short  reign,  many  acts  of  an  extraordinary  tyranny  and  baseness, 
and  his  thoughts  dealt  triumphantly  on  Mr.  Herbert,  slipping 
down  the  river  out  of  the  tumult  and  excitement  to  the  quiet  of 
Gravesend  with  an  important  little  paper  in  his  seaman's  coat 
pocket. 


CHAPTER   IV 
THE  MESSENGER  FROM  ENGLAND 

MADAME  DE  MARSAC,  one  time  Miss  Basilea  Gage 
and  maid  of  honour  to  the  Queen  of  England,  sat  in 
the  window-place  of  an  inn  in  The  Hague  and  looked  down  into 
the  street.  There  was  an  expression  of  indifference  on  her  face 
and  of  listlessness  in  her  attitude,  though  a  man  in  black  velvet 
was  standing  near  to  her  and  speaking  with  an  appearance  of 
great  energy,  and  he  was  M.  D'Avaux,  minister  of  King  Louis  xiv 
to  the  States  General. 

Basilea  was  Romanist,  of  a  family  who  had  held  that  faith 
since  the  days  of  Queen  Mary  Tudor ;  her  husband,  two  years 
dead,  an  officer  in  the  French  Army,  had  left  her  with  a  small 
fortune  and  no  regrets,  since  she  was  yet  undecided  as  to  whether 
she  had  liked  him  or  no ;  though  too  clever  to  be  unhappy  she 
was  miserably  idle,  and  had  drifted  from  Paris  back  to  London, 
and  from  London  to  Amsterdam,  where  her  late  lord's  people 
were  prominent  among  the  powerful  French  faction,  and  still 
without  finding  any  interest  in  life. 

It  was  M.  D'Avaux,  with  whom  she  had  some  former 
acquaintance,  who  had  urgently  requested  her  to  come  to  The 
Hague,  and  she  was  here,  listening  to  him,  but  without  en- 
thusiasm, being  more  engaged  in  watching  the  great  number  of 
well-dressed  people  who  passed  up  and  down  the  wide,  clean 
street. 

M.  D'Avaux  perhaps  noticed  her  inattention,  for  he  broke  his 
discourse  with  an  abrupt  question. 

11  Would  you  care  to  see  a  revolution  in  your  country — '49 
over  again  with  the  Prince  of  Orange  in  place  of  Cromwell  ?  " 

She  turned  quickly,  obviously  startled.  Though  so  indifferent 
to  actual  happenings,  she  was  tenacious  of  tradition,  and  she  felt 


34  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

a  vast,  though  passive,  admiration  for  the  action  of  King  James 
in  re-establishing  in  his  kingdoms  the  ancient  faith  that  was  hers. 

"  Why — you  mean "  she  began,  and  paused,  searching  his 

face  with  puzzled  dark  eyes. 

"  I  mean,  Madame,"  said  M.  D'Avaux  strongly,  "  that  your 
King  is  cutting  away  the  supports  that  prop  his  throne — you 
must  know  something  of  the  feeling  in  England." 

"Yes,"  she  assented;  "the  trouble  with  the  colleges,  the 
declaration  of  Indulgence,  and  some  rare  malicious  talk  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales — but  nothing  like — a  revolution  ! " 

The  Frenchman  smiled. 

"Let  me  tell  you  some  facts.  When  Henry  Sidney  was 
Envoy  here,  he  was  in  reality  the  channel  of  communication 
between  the  Opposition  in  England  and  His  Highness — even 
since  his  recall  he  hath  served  the  same  turn — and  these  last 
months  Edward  Russell  hath  been  coming  and  going  with 
messages  between  the  Prince  and  those  great  Protestants  whom 
the  King  hath  put  out  of  office." 

"  If  this  is  known,"  cried  Basilea,  "  surely  it  can  be  prevented 
— it  is  treason  ! " 

"What  is  treason  in  England,  Madame,  is  loyalty  at  The 
Hague — and  do  you  imagine  that  I  have  any  influence  with  the 
States,  who  are  entirely  under  the  rule  of  the  Prince  ?  " 

"I  have  noticed,"  answered  Basilea,  "a  monstrous  number 
of  English  and  French  Protestants  at  The  Hague,  but  thought 
they  came  here  for  a  mere  refuge." 

"  They  come  here,"  said  M.  D'Avaux  drily,  "  for  revenge — 
since  the  Edict  of  Nantes  was  revoked  all  the  Huguenots  look 
to  the  Prince,  and  since  he  refused  his  assent  to  the  Declaration 
of  Indulgence  every  Englishman  who  is  not  a  Romanist  looketh 
to  him  also." 

Basilea  rose ;  the  sunshine  was  over  her  curls  and  blue  dress, 
and  shook  a  red  light  from  the  garnets  at  her  wrist ;  her  eyes 
narrowed;  she  was  interested  by  this  clear  talk  of  important 
events. 

"  What  could  the  Prince  do  ?  "  she  asked  quietly. 

M.  D'Avaux  replied  with  some  passion. 

"  This  is  the  tenth  year  of  the  uneasy  peace  forced  on  His 
Highness  by  His  Majesty  and  the  late  King  Charles,  and  not  a 


THE  MESSENGER  FROM  ENGLAND       35 

month  of  that  time  that  he  hath  not  been  working  to  be  avenged 
on  us  for  the  terms  we  obtained  then — he  hath  combined  powers 
in  secret  leagues  against  us,  he  hath  vexed  and  defied  us  at  every 
turn,  and  he  hath  never,  for  one  moment,  ceased  to  intrigue  for 
the  help  of  England  against  us — in  some  final  issue." 

"But  England,"  said  Basilea  quickly,  "is  entirely  bound  to 
France " 

"  Yes ;  and  because  of  that,  and  because  the  Prince  of  Orange 
knoweth  it,  King  James  is  in  a  desperate  strait " 

"Why?" 

"Madame,  I  know  the  Prince  tolerably  well  —  he  never 
relinquishes  any  idea  that  hath  a  firm  hold  on  his  mind,  and 
what  he  cannot  accomplish  by  diplomacy  he  will  essay  by  force." 

"  By  force  ! "  echoed  Basilea,  staring  at  the  Ambassador. 

He  came  a  little  nearer  to  her  and  lowered  his  voice. 

"What  is  the  business  that  keepeth  Edward  Russell  on 
messenger  duty  to  and  fro  The  Hague  and  London  ?  What  is 
the  business  that  keepeth  the  Prince  for  ever  riding  from  his  villa 
to  the  States  ?  Why  are  all  the  harness  makers  of  the  Provinces 
making  bridles,  bits,  and  spurs  ?  Why  is  the  Prince,  if  there  is 
not  some  great  design  afoot,  buying  up  load  after  load  of  hay — 
why  are  new  ships  being  built,  fresh  troops  being  raised  ?  " 

" Surely,"  answered  Basilea,  "I  have  heard  it  said  that  the 
States  were  making  ready  in  case  the  dispute  between  King 
Louis  and  the  Pope  anent  Cologne  should  involve  attack  on 
their  frontiers." 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,"  said  M.  D'Avaux.  "  But  King  James 
and  Lord  Sunderland  take  your  view — they  will  not  be  roused, 
they  will  not  see,  and  daily  they  further  abuse  that  loyalty  which 
is  their  sole  support.  I  am  well  informed  from  England  that 
not  one  man  in  ten  believeth  the  Prince  of  Wales  to  be  the 
King's  son,  and  that  they  regard  the  producing  of  him  as  a  mere 
fraud  to  cheat  the  Princesses  of  their  birthright." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  what  do  you  think  ? "  asked  Basilea. 
"  It  is  not  possible  that  the  Prince  should  claim  his  wife's  in- 
heritance by  force  of  arms  ?  " 

"  You  put  it  very  succinctly,"  said  M.  D'Avaux.  "  That  is 
exactly  what  I  think  he  will  do." 

Basilea  was  silent.     The,  to  her,  amazing  aspect  of  inter- 


36  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

national  politics  disclosed  in  M.  D'Avaux's  brief  and  troubled 
summary  filled  her  with  dismay  and  anger.  The  domestic 
government  of  England  did  not  concern  her,  since  she  did  not 
live  under  it,  and  her  family,  being  Romanist,  were  more 
prosperous  under  King  James  than  they  had  ever  been.  She  had 
not  given  much  thought  to  the  justice  or  wisdom  of  the  means 
the  King  had  taken  to  convert  his  kingdom,  but  she  approved 
of  the  principle.  She  had  no  admiration  for  the  Prince  of  Orange, 
and  no  sympathy  for  the  cause  he  upheld. 

"He  would  never,"  she  remarked,  continuing  her  thoughts 
aloud,  "  dare  the  scandal  of  an  open  rupture  betwixt  himself  and 
His  Majesty,  who  is  both  his  uncle  and  his  wife's  father " 

"There  is  nothing  but  dislike  between  them  since  the  King 
recalled  Sidney  and  the  Prince  refused  his  assent  to  the  repeal 
of  the  Test  Act " 

"But  the  Princess,"  interrupted  Basilea.  "Why,  I  used  to 
know  her,  and  I  dare  assure  you  she  is  not  one  to  forget  her 
duty " 

"  Her  duty  ! "  repeated  M.  D'Avaux. 

He  looked  at  her  intently. 

"  You  have  touched  the  reason  why  I  asked  you  to  come  to 
The  Hague,"  he  said.  "  I  want  you  to  wait  on  the  Princess  and 
obtain  from  her  some  assurance  that  she  would  never  counten- 
ance any  menace  to  her  father " 

"  I  am  sure  she  would  not,"  answered  Basilea  at  once. 

"  I  do  hope  it,  for  if  she  will  not  support  her  husband  his 
design  is  as  good  as  hopeless,  since  it  is  her  claim,  not  his  own, 
he  must  put  forward." 

Basilea  smiled. 

"She  is  a  Stewart,  must  be  a  little  ambitious,  if  nothing  else, 
and  hers  was  not  a  love-match  that  she  should  sacrifice  every- 
thing to  her  husband." 

She  glanced  quickly  at  M.  D'Avaux,  and  added — 

"  But  you  still  look  doubtful " 

"Madame,"  he  replied  earnestly,  "the  Princess  is  a  very 
ardent  Protestant " 

"  She  was  not  at  Whitehall." 

" — She  hath,"  he  continued,  "lived  ten  years  with  the 
Prince " 


THE  MESSENGER  FROM  ENGLAND       37 

"  They  say  in  England  that  he  doth  not  treat  her  kindly " 

"His  Majesty  hath  done  his  best  to  put  discord  between 
them — when  Her  Highness  discovered  that  her  chaplain  and  one 
of  her  women,  Anne  Trelawney,  were  working,  on  His  Majesty's 
orders,  to  make  mischief  betwixt  the  Prince  and  herself,  she 
dismissed  them.  I  thought  that  looked  ill  for  us." 

Basilea  shook  her  head,  still  smiling. 

"  An  English  princess  will  not  be  so  soon  subdued — I'll 
undertake  to  get  assurances  from  Her  Highness  that  she  is 
ignorant  of  these  tales  of  the  designs  of  the  Prince,  and  that  she 
would  never  support  them  if  she  knew  of  them." 

Basilea  spoke  with  some  animation ;  she  felt  sure  of  what 
she  said,  and  was  not  ill  pleased  to  be  of  service  to  her  own  and 
her  adopted  country  in  this,  as  she  thought  it,  pleasant  fashion. 

She  remembered  Mary  Stewart  as  a  lively,  laughing  girl,  who 
had  detested  and  opposed  her  marriage  with  much  spirit,  and  she 
had  no  fear  that  she  would  find  that  wilful  gay  Princess  difficult 
to  manage. 

M.  D'Avaux  was  not  so  confident. 

"You  do  not  know  the  Prince,"  he  remarked,  and  Basilea 
laughed. 

"  He  is  not  so  redoubtable  where  women  are  concerned, 
I  think,"  she  answered ;  "  at  least  allow  me  to  try." 

"  I  ask  it  of  you,"  he  said  gravely  ;  "  for  more  hangs  on  this 
than  I  dare  think." 

"  Sure,  you  need  not  fear  the  Prince,"  she  returned,  "  if  he 
had  the  most  wicked  will  in  the  world — the  difficulties  in  his 
way  are  unsurmountable." 

"  France,"  he  replied,  "  must  make  them  so." 

On  that  he  took  his  leave,  and  left  Basilea  with  more  busy 
thoughts  than  had  been  hers  for  some  while  since. 

She  returned  to  the  window-seat,  propped  her  chin  on  her 
palm,  and  looked  down  the  street.  She  was  a  pretty  seeming 
woman,  slender,  dusky  brown  in  the  hair  and  eyes,  of  a  just 
height  and  proportion,  and  her  person  was  shown  to  advantage 
by  the  plain  French  style  of  her  gown  and  ringlets,  which  had  a 
graceful  simplicity  wholly  wanting  in  the  stiff  fashions  prevailing 
in  England  and  the  Low  Countries. 

Her  window  looked  upon  an  end  of  the  Buitenhof,  one  of 


38  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

the  two  great  squares  that  formed  the  centre  of  The  Hague 
so  admired  by  strangers ;  it  was  planted  with  lime  trees,  now 
past  their  flowering  time,  but  still  fragrant  and  softly  green  in  the 
gentle  air  of  July. 

A  great  number  of  people  of  both  sexes,  finely  dressed,  were 
passing  up  and  down,  on  foot,  on  horseback,  and  in  little  open 
chariots  and  sedans.  Basilea  noticed  many  unmistakeably 
English,  Scotch,  and  French  of  varying  degrees  of  qualities — 
soldiers,  divines,  gentlemen,  and  women  mingling  with  the  crowd, 
hastening  past  with  intent  faces  or  lounging  with  idle  glances 
at  each  other  in  hopes  to  detect  a  friend  or  patron. 

She  opened  the  window  and  leaned  out  so  that  she  could  see 
the  Buitenhof  with  the  straight  lines  and  arches  of  the  govern- 
ment buildings  of  the  States,  the  trees  that  shaded  the  great  fish- 
pond called  the  Vyver,  and  the  open  square  where  the  carriages 
passed  on  their  way  to  the  fashionable  promenade  of  the 
Voorhout  and  Toorniveld. 

Among  all  the  varying  figures  that  caught  her  glance  was 
that  of  a  tall  man  in  the  garb  of  an  English  seaman — red  breeches, 
a  tarred  coat,  a  cocked  hat  with  his  captain's  colours,  and  a  heavy 
sword. 

She  noticed  him  first  because  he  stopped  to  ask  directions  of 
two  passers-by,  English  also,  and  because  he  was,  even  among  so 
many,  of  a  fine  and  showy  appearance. 

He  turned  at  first  towards  the  arches  that  led  through  to  the 
Binnenhof  and  the  Hall  of  the  Knights,  then  hesitated,  turned 
back,  and  retraced  his  steps  until  he  was  just  under  Basilea's 
window. 

Here  he  paused  again,  and  accosted  a  stout  gentleman  in  the 
dress  of  an  Anglican  priest,  who  was  dashing  through  the  press 
with  a  great  air  of  importance  and  hurry. 

On  seeing  the  tarpaulin  he  greeted  him  with  noisy  surprise 
and  pleasure,  and  drew  him  a  little  out  of  the  crowd,  and 
proceeded  to  converse  eagerly  with  the  unction  of  the  inveterate 
talker. 

Basilea  laughed  to  herself  as  she  observed  the  seaman's  efforts 
to  escape,  and  to  obtain  some  first  answer  to  a  question. 

At  last  he  seemed  to  accomplish  both,  for  he  wrenched 
himself  from  the  powerful  presence  of  the  priest,  and  hastened 


THE  MESSENGER  FROM  ENGLAND       39 

towards  the  Stadhuis,  while  the  other  called  after  him  in  a  voice 
meant  to  be  subdued,  but  still  so  resonant  that  Basilea  could  hear 
every  word  :  "  The  Prince  will  be  back  to-morrow  evening  ! " 

The  seaman  waved  his  hat,  nodded,  and  hastened  on. 

Basilea  wondered  why  a  common  sailor  should  be  concerned 
as  to  when  His  Highness  returned  to  The  Hague,  and  concluded, 
rather  angrily,  that  here  was  evidence  of  one  of  the  manifold 
intrigues  which  the  Whigs,  M.  D'Avaux  had  assured  her,  carried 
on  almost  openly  in  Holland;  she  knew  the  priest  to  be  Dr. 
Burnet,  one  of  the  most  active  exiles  at  The  Hague. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  PRINCESS  OF  ORANGE 

BASILEA  DE  MARSAC  waited  on  Her  Highness  the  day 
after  her  interview  with  M.  D'Avaux ;  a  curious  coincidence 
had  strengthened  her  desire  to  see  the  Princess,  and  piqued  her 
curiosity  as  to  the  sentiments  of  that  lady.  One  of  the  fast 
packets  that  were  constantly  plying  between  the  States  and 
England  had  brought  her  a  letter  from  Lady  Sunderland,  who 
was,  to  Basilea,  a  person  who  of  all  others  must  find  it  her  interest 
and  duty  to  be  intensely  loyal.  My  lady  wrote  a  long  and 
involved  letter,  but  the  sum  of  it  seemed  to  be  what  M.  D'Avaux 
had  put  much  more  plainly,  namely,  that  the  King's  party  (among 
whom  was,  of  course,  Lord  Sunderland)  had  become  alarmed  at 
the  crisis  the  actions  of  His  Majesty  had  brought  upon  the 
country  in  attempting  to  push  forward  his  own  religion,  and 
that  they  feared  an  active  interference  on  the  part  of  the  Prince 
of  Orange,  now  his  wife's  claims  were  indefinitely  postponed  by 
the  birth  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and  his  hopes  of  an  English 
alliance  against  the  French  for  ever  shattered  by  the  policy  of 
King  James. 

Lady  Sunderland  concluded  by  asking  of  Basilea  what 
M.  D'Avaux  had  asked — that  she  should  discover  the  mind  of 
the  Princess,  and  draw  some  promise  from  her  for  the  satisfaction 
of  Royalist  and  Romanist,  to  the  effect  that  Her  Highness  would 
never  let  her  title  to  the  English  throne  be  a  handle  for  her 
husband's  political  designs. 

Basilea  was  half  roused,  half  amused  by  the  double  errand. 
She  was  not  very  well  informed  about  politics,  but  she  felt  in  her 
heart  an  absolute  doubt  of  any  revolution  in  England.  All  her 
life  there  had  been  talk  of  it,  but  it  had  always  ended  in  a  few 
executions  or  fights  in  Scotland,  or  some  such  vague  conclusions 


THE  PRINCESS  OF  ORANGE  41 

in  which  she  had  never  been  very  interested;  but  she  could 
understand  that  Lady  Sunderland  did  not  feel  lukewarm  in  the 
matter.  Ever  since  the  May  of  last  year,  when  the  Earl  had  been 
converted  to  the  Church  of  Rome  (a  step  which  none  other  of  the 
King's  ministers  had  taken),  he  had  been  as  detested  in  England 
as  it  was  possible  for  a  man  to  be.  The  King  alone  protected  him, 
and  if  the  King  fell,  there  was  little  doubt  that  his  fall  also 
would  be  swift  and  terrible. 

Basilea  liked  the  Countess ;  she  was  better  pleased  to  serve 
her  than  to  serve  M.  D'Avaux,  and  she  anticipated,  with  pleasure, 
being  able  to  write  in  answer  that  the  Princess  was  still  a 
Stewart,  despite  ten  years'  residence  in  Holland. 

It  was  late  afternoon  when  Basilea  had  her  audience 
(accorded  without  difficulty)  at  the  Prince's  villa  beyond  The 
Hague,  called  the  '  huis  ten  bosch '  by  reason  of  the  beautiful 
wood  and  deer  park  in  which  it  stood.  This  house  had  been 
built  by  the  Prince's  grandmother,  Amalia  of  Solms,  and  con- 
tained the  famous  hall  which  she  had  decorated  in  honour  of 
her  husband,  the  Stadtholder  Frederick  Henry.  There  was  no 
splendour,  however,  in  the  apartments  Basilea  saw ;  the  appoint- 
ments were  neat  and  comfortable,  but  neither  lavish  nor  rich,  and 
she  had  known  English  ladies  better  served  as  to  the  quantity 
and  appearance  of  servants  than  was  the  Princess  Royal  of 
England. 

In  a  room  at  the  back,  that  overlooked  a  formal  garden  filled 
with  roses  and  box  hedges,  Basilea  found  the  mistress  of  the 
quiet  house  and  the  lady  whose  mind  two  great  kingdoms  were 
anxious  to  know. 

It  was  a  chamber  panelled  in  walnut,  and  furnished  by  chairs 
with  worked  seats  and  stools  with  fringed  covers,  several  fine 
pieces  of  Eastern  furniture,  and  many  shelves  on  which  stood 
curious  and  vivid  china  monsters  and  vases,  and  bow  pots  filled 
with  roses. 

Basilea  did  not  know  which  of  the  two  young  ladies  seated 
by  the  window  was  the  Princess,  so  utterly  had  ten  years  worked 
their  change. 

She  hesitated  after  her  courtesy,  and  the  taller  of  the  two 
ladies  came  forward  and  took  her  hand  warmly. 

"Are  you   Basilea   Gage   with   whom    I    used    to   play   at 


42  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

Twickenham?"  she  asked.  "Why  did  you  not  come  to  see 
me  sooner?" 

She  smiled  half  wistfully,  and  turned  to  her  companion. 

"This  is  Mademoiselle  Dyckfelt,  and  this  is  Madame  de 
Marsac,  Anne,  whom  I  told  you  was  coming  to-day." 

She  had  a  timid  way  of  speaking,  as  if  she  was  shy,  and,  to 
Basilea,  something  of  the  formal  in  her  manner,  as  if  she  was 
preoccupied. 

The  Dutch  lady  was  like  most  of  her  countrywomen  whom 
Basilea  had  observed,  very  fair  and  pretty,  with  that  glow  and 
robust  brightness  that  gave  the  women  of  Holland  their  re- 
putation for  handsomeness.  She  was  plainly  dressed  in  grey 
branched  with  silver,  and  was  engaged  in  working  a  chair-cover 
in  cross  stitch.  The  vivid  green  and  blue  of  the  wools  she  used 
showed  off  her  small,  plump  white  hands — a  common  beauty 
among  her  nation. 

The  Princess  began  talking  of  England  and  the  people 
she  remembered  there;  while  Basilea  answered  she  observed 
Mary,  who  seemed  to  her  disappointingly  strange  and  different. 

Still  little  "more  than  a  girl,  she  was  extremely  beautiful, 
uniting  her  father's  aristocratic  grace  and  her  mother's  soft 
charm;  though  dignified  and  above  the  common  height,  she 
bore  herself  humbly  and  with  a  deprecating  sweetness. 

Basilea  was  not  the  only  one  who  at  first  sight  had  been 
impressed  with  the  air  of  simple  purity  which  heightened  and 
glorified  Mary's  beauty,  for  it  was  impossible  to  find  a  fault  in 
her  person  or  manner :  she  was  unconscious  of  herself,  tactful, 
without  affectations  or  vanities,  watchful  for  others,  and  charming 
in  address,  though  with  that  pretty  reserve  that  Basilea  called 
formality. 

Her  features  were  not  unlike  those  of  her  ancestress — another 
Mary  Stewart,  Queen  of  Scotland — soft  and  lovely,  childlike  in 
profile,  with  the  gentle  curve  of  contour ;  but  grave  and  rather  sad 
in  the  full  look,  and  with  the  expression  of  a  woman,  and  a 
woman  who  has  observed,  grieved,  and  pitied. 

Her  brown  eyes  were  very  large,  misty,  and  continually 
narrowed  from  weak  sight,  her  hair,  of  the  Stewart  red-brown, 
hung  in  thick  natural  curls  from  a  simple  knot  in  her  neck. 

She  gained  no  advantage  from  her  dress,  which  would  not 


THE  PRINCESS  OF  ORANGE  43 

have  offended  a  Puritan  :  the  straight,  boned  bodice  and  stiff 
falling  stuff  of  a  dull  pink  colour  held  no  line  of  grace,  and  the 
prim  ruffles  to  wrist  and  throat  were  more  decorous  than 
becoming.  At  the  English  court  her  attire  would  have  been 
considered  ugly,  if  not  ridiculous,  and  Basilea  did  not  find  it 
pleasing.  She  was  not  herself  of  a  type  that  can  afford  to  forego 
the  advantages  of  adornment,  and  she  reflected  that  with  the 
Princess's  beauty  and  her  own  taste  she  could  have  made  a 
sumptuous  appearance. 

While  thus  inwardly  admired  and  criticized,  Mary  was 
speaking  of  England  and  all  her  one-time  friends  there,  and 
Mademoiselle  Dyckfelt  was  making  comments  in  pretty  broken 
English,  accompanied  with  a  little  gasping  laugh  which  Basilea 
had  noticed  in  many  Dutch  people. 

Through  all  her  amiable  converse  Mary  betrayed  some  slight 
inner  agitation  and  expectation,  as  if  she  feared  the  visit  might 
have  another  meaning  than  mere  courtesy ;  and  Basilea  guessed 
that  she,  whose  position  was  one  of  such  importance  in  Europe, 
must  be  used  to  oblique  attempts  to  sound  her  views. 

With  a  half-faint  amusement  she  made  her  own  essay — 

"  Highness,  I  was  in  good  hopes  that  you  would  not  seem 
such  a  stranger  to  me,  because  I  am  instructed  to  make  the 
venture  to  speak  with  you " 

Mary  looked  at  her  quickly,  and  interrupted — 

"  By  whom  instructed  ?  " 

"  Lady  Sunderland,  Madame,  for  whom  your  Highness  was 
wont  to  have  some  kindness." 

The  Princess  flushed,  and  Basilea  wondered  why,  as  her  sole 
answer  was — 

"  I  think  Lady  Sunderland  a  good  woman." 

Basilea  smiled. 

"She  is  also,  as  Your  Highness  knoweth,  a  great  Politic, 
which  I  never  was  nor  could  be,  and  hath  set  me  to  ask  Your 
Highness  some  questions  bearing  on  great  affairs." 

"Great  affairs,"  said  Mary  under  her  breath.  She  rose 
gravely.  "  I  think  we  must  not  plague  Mademoiselle  Dyckfelt 
with  this  talk.  Will  you,  Madame,  come  into  the  garden  ?  " 

The  Dutch  maiden  rose  and  unlatched  the  long  window, 
then  returned  placidly  to  her  sewing. 


44  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

Mary  and  Basilea  descended  a  few  steps  into  the  formal 
garden,  mainly  composed  of  box  hedges  and  dipt  rose  bushes, 
with  a  square  pond  in  the  centre  bordered  with  little  yellow 
yew  trees  in  wooden  tubs  and  precise  beds  of  pinks  and  herbs. 

The  tall  and  beautiful  trees  of  the  deer  park  in  which  the 
villa  stood  rose  up,  with  the  elegant  air  of  loftiness  peculiar  to 
the  trees  of  a  perfectly  flat  country  where  they  are  the  highest 
thing  the  eye  has  within  range ;  the  air  also  was  characteristic, 
being  of  that  strangely  exhilarating  quality  of  salt  freshness  that 
in  every  part  of  the  United  Provinces  served  as  a  perpetual 
reminder  of  the  sea.  It  was  warm  to-day,  and  the  sun  was  golden 
in  the  foliage,  and  lay  in  scattered  flecks  of  light  among  the 
flowers,  and  on  the  pond  where  two  waterlilies  were  slowly 
closing  to  the  evening. 

"You  may  speak  quite  frankly  now,"  said  Mary,  as  they 
proceeded  slowly  down  the  gravel  path.  "  Have  you  a  message 
from  Lady  Sunderland  ?  " 

"  No,  Madame,"  said  Basilea,  surprised  that  the  Princess 
should  seem  to  expect  it.  "Only — it  is  difficult  to  express, 
Highness — but  there  are  monstrous  tales  abroad  in  France, 
England,  and  even  here " 

The  Princess  looked  at  her  silently. 

"They  do  say,"  continued  Basilea,  "that  His  Highness 
meddleth  in  the  affairs  of  England,  and  these  rumours  give 
disquietude  to  His  Majesty " 

Mary  broke  in,  rather  breathless — 

"  I  know  nothing  of  business — my  husband  heareth  so  much 
of  it  abroad  that  he  is  glad  to  talk  of  other  matters  at  home. 
What  doth  Lady  Sunderland  want  of  me  ?  " 

Basilea  answered  directness  with  directness. 

"  She  wisheth  to  know — that  the  Earl  may  put  it  privately 
before  His  Majesty — your  mind  on  the  matter  between  His 
Highness  and  the  King." 

"  What  matter  is  that  ?  "  asked  Mary. 

Basilea  was  at  a  loss. 

"  Your  Highness  must  know  better  than  I :  as  for  these 
horrible  rumours " 

Mary  paused  by  a  rose  bush  and  asked  steadily — 

"  What  rumours  ?  " 


THE  PRINCESS  OF  ORANGE  45 

"  I  think  it  would  be  unseemly  to  name  them  ! " 

"  I  will  hold  you  excused,"  said  the  Princess,  still  gravely. 

"  Then,  Madame,  'tis  said  that  His  Highness  is  so  exasperate 
with  the  policy  of  His  Majesty  and  postponement  of  your  claim 
by  the  birth  of  the  Prince,  that  he  might  attempt  to  do  what  my 
Lord  Monmouth  did " 

Mary's  fine  fingers  pulled  delicately  at  the  rose  leaves. 

"My  husband  and  that  poor  unhappy  gentleman  are  such 
different  characters  and  in  such  different  situations,"  she  said, 
"that  there  can  be  no  comparison.  I  think  the  Prince  would 
never  do  as  the  Duke  did." 

Basilea  looked  at  her  keenly. 

"'Tis  asserted,  Lady  Sunderland  saith,  that  the  Prince  is  in 
league  with  all  the  discontents  of  England,  that  he  sheltereth 
many  at  The  Hague " 

"  This  country,"  answered  the  Princess  quietly,  "  hath  always 
been  a  refuge  for  the  unfortunate,  and  it  is  reasonable  that  the 
near  connection  of  my  husband  to  the  throne  should  give  him 
an  interest  in  English  business." 

Basilea  was  older  than  the  Princess,  whose  air  of  extreme 
gentleness  further  emboldened  her  to  take,  half  unconsciously,  a 
further  liberty. 

"I  can  assure  Lady  Sunderland  that  His  Highness  is 
innocent  of  the  designs  imputed  to  him." 

Mary  glanced  up  from  the  rose  bush ;  she  smiled  very  slightly. 

"  Why,  you  must  go  to  the  Prince  for  that  assurance ;  I  know 
nothing  about  it." 

Basilea  stirred  the  gravel  with  her  square-toed  red  shoe. 

"  You  must  know,  Madame,"  she  said  slowly,  "  whether  you 
would  hinder  or  further  the  Prince  his  projects  ?  " 

Mary  flushed,  and  the  full  brown  eyes  narrowed. 

"  Neither  you  nor  I,"  she  answered,  "  can  discuss  His  High- 
ness his  projects,  which  ever  have  been  and  will  be  for  the  good 
of  Europe." 

Basilea  looked  at  her  curiously. 

"  I  fear  Your  Highness  will  think  me  impertinent,  but,"  she 
thought  of  the  grave  words  of  M.  D'Avaux,  and  the  memory 
urged  her  not  to  be  put  off  by  the  evasiveness  of  the  Princess — 
"  but  there  are  strange  things  said  in  Paris  and  London " 


46  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"Madame  de  Marsac,"  interrupted  Mary  gently,  "if  my 
father  hath  cause  to  complain  of  me,  he  must  send  a  direct 
messenger." 

Basilea  felt  herself  rebuked. 

"I  do  not  carry  His  Majesty's  complaints,  Highness,"  she 
answered  humbly.  "  I  am  but  the  poor  engine  of  the  fears  of 
my  Lady  Sunderland,  who  saith  that  in  London  the  Prince  his 
name  is  on  the  lips  of  all  the  discontents,  and  it  is  feared  that 
they  might  set  him  up  as  a  pretender ;  and  since  that  could  not 
be  if  you  refused  your  consent,  it  would  be  a  great  comfort  to 
His  Majesty  and  his  faithful  ministers  if  you  would  give  that 
assurance." 

The  Princess  took  a  step  forward,  then  stopped  as  if  by  an 
effort  of  self-control. 

"  I  cannot  deal  with  these  secret  and  underground  counsels," 
she  said  firmly  ;  "and  my  poor  brains  are  not  fit  for  business." 

"This  is  not  business,  Highness,"  urged  Basilea. 

"Whatever  you  call  it,"  demanded  the  Princess,  "why  did 
you  undertake  it  ?  " 

"Because  M.  D'Avaux "  began  Basilea,  then  stopped 

vexed ;  she  had  not  meant  to  mention  that  name. 

"M.  D'Avaux,"  repeated  Mary,  with  a  heightened  colour; 
"  so  he  hath  a  mind  to  know  what  I  shall  do  if  a  certain  crisis 
cometh  ?  " 

Both  the  tone  and  the  words  seemed  to  betray  more  interest 
and  knowledge  than  she  had  yet  disclosed,  and  Basilea  was 
encouraged. 

"M.  D'Avaux  is  an  acquaintance  of  mine,"  she  said  frankly. 

"Ah  yes,"  replied  Mary;  "you  are  a  Papist,  and  your 
husband  was  a  Frenchman.  I  think  that  meaneth,"  she  added 
courteously,  "that  we  cannot  see  things  the  same." 

"Your  Highness  doth  not  desire  to  behold  Europe  embroiled 
in  another  war ! " 

Mary  answered  earnestly — 

"  There  is  nothing  further  from  my  wishes,  and  no  ambition 
of  mine,"  she  added  half  wistfully,  "would  disturb  anybody's 
peace.  I  bless  my  God  that  I  know  the  life  I  am  suited  to,  and 
I  thank  Him  that  He  hath  given  me  the  grace  to  know  when  I 
am  happy." 


THE  PRINCESS  OF  ORANGE  47 

She  put  her  hand  gently  on  Basilea's  sleeve. 

"It  is  getting  too  dark  to  remain  here,  and  you  have  not 
even  looked  at  my  roses  ! " 

Basilea  admitted  herself  defeated.     She  was  a  little  chagrined 

at   the  thought  of  the   lame   report   she   would   have   to  give 

M.  D'Avaux,  but  she  could  press  no  more,  especially  as  she  had 

'an  uneasy  feeling  that  the  Princess  thought  the  less  of  her  for 

the  errand  she  had  come  upon. 

She  left  talk  of  politics,  and  Mary  accompanied  her  with 
easy  courtesy  to  the  front  of  the  villa,  where  her  hired  chariot 
waited  with  her  maid  yawning  herself  to  death  over  an  old- 
fashioned  romance  by  Mademoiselle  de  Scudery,  which  she  had 
found  in  the  inn  parlour. 

The  sky  was  paling  and  flushing  behind  the  great  avenue  of 
trees  rich  in  their  full  leafage,  and  the  rooks  were  noisy  in  the 
branches. 

"  This  is  a  pretty  spot,  Highness,"  said  Basilea,  on  the  im- 
pulse of  the  moment. 

Mary  smiled. 

Two  men  were  mounting  the  few  wide  entrance  steps.  Basilea 
noticed  them,  because  one  was  the  red-breeched  sailor  whom  she 
had  seen  yesterday  beneath  her  window,  the  other  was  a  slight 
gentleman  in  a  circular  mantle  turned  up  over  one  shoulder, 
wearing  riding  boots  and  carrying  a  whip ;  Basilea  saw  his  horse 
being  led  off  by  a  bareheaded  groom. 

She  could  not  restrain  her  curiosity  at  seeing  the  seaman 
entering  the  Prince's  villa. 

"  Doth  Your  Highness  know  that  man  ?  "  she  asked. 

Mary  glanced  at  the  two  as  she  closed  the  gate  in  the  garden  wall. 

"  Which  ?  "  she  asked,  smiling. 

"The  English  sailor " 

"No;  but  he  hath  good  credentials,  for  that  is  the  Prince 
with  him,"  said  Mary  quietly. 

Basilea  was  further  surprised;  she  endeavoured  to  gain  a 
closer  view  of  the  Stadtholder  and  his  companion,  but  they  had 
entered  the  house ;  she  was  satisfied,  however,  that  she  had  some- 
thing to  tell  M.  D'Avaux. 

"You  must  not  marvel  at  the  companion  of  His  Highness," 
continued  the  Princess ;  "  there  are  many  come  here  who  are 


48  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

glad  lo  wear  disguises,  owing  to  the  rancour  of  the  persecution 
of  the  Protestants  in  France." 

Basilea  curtsied  her  leave.  She  was  quite  convinced  that  the 
seaman  was  not  French  nor  on  any  message  from  France,  and 
she  was  beginning  to  be  convinced,  too,  that  the  Princess  was 
marvellously  changed  and  different,  and  that  it  would  be  well  for 
neither  Lady  Sunderland  nor  M.  D'Avaux  to  be  too  sure  of  her 
compliance. 

Mary  allowed  her  to  depart  without  that  demonstration  of 
kindness  with  which  she  had  received  her,  and  Basilea  stepped 
into  her  chariot  feeling  disappointed  and  dissatisfied. 

Mary,  still  standing  by  the  garden  wall  at  the  side  of  the 
house,  watched  the  little  coach  swing  out  of  sight  down  the  long 
darkening  drive,  and  when  it  was  lost  in  the  shadows  ran  lightly 
up  the  steps  and  in  through  the  tall  doors ;  there,  in  the  light 
painted  vestibule,  she  found  the  Prince  and  the  English  seaman 
conversing. 

She  paused,  flushed,  and  breathing  in  pants.  The  Prince 
took  off  his  hat,  and  said — 

"  This  is  the  Princess,  sir." 

The  sailor  turned  quickly,  and  gave  her  a  sharp  look  as  he 
bowed. 

"  This  is  Admiral  Herbert,  Madame,"  continued  the  Prince, 
"who  is  new  come  from  England." 

The  colour  receded  from  Mary's  face.  She  glaced  in  a  half 
frightened  way  at  her  husband. 

"  Oh,"  she  murmured,  "  I  wished  to  speak  to  you — but  it 
can  wait — for  I  suppose  Admiral  Herbert  his  business  is  ... 
important." 

There  was  a  tenseness  of  containment  among  the  three  of 
them,  as  if  they  were  all  aware  of  great  events  and  would  not 
speak  of  them. 

"  If  the  Princess  is  informed "  began  Arthur  Herbert. 

The  Stadtholder  interrupted. 

"  The  Princess  knoweth  everything,  Mr.  Herbert." 

Arthur  Herbert  betrayed  the  slightest  surprise,  covered 
instantly  by  a  ready  turn  of  speech. 

"  Her  Highness  will  understand,  then,  the  importance  of  my 
business." 


THE  PRINCESS  OF  ORANGE  49 

He  bowed  again,  very  courteous,  to  Mary,  who  answered 
instantly — 

"  I  will  not  hinder  you,  Mr.  Herbert,  not  for  an  instant." 

The  Prince  looked  at  her. 

"  Send  for  me  when  I  am  free,  Madame." 

With  that  they  both  saluted  her,  and  turned  into  the  room  at 
the  right  of  the  vestibule. 

Mary  stood  motionless  in  the  twilight,  peered  at  the  closed 
door  that  concealed  the  English  messenger,  then  went  softly 
and,  it  seemed,  fearfully  away. 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  LETTERS  OF  MR.  HERBERT 

WHEN  Admiral  Herbert  found  himself  closeted  with 
William  of  Orange,  he  had  some  eagerness  in  observing 
that  Prince  whose  name  was  so  much  in  the  mouths  of  men,  and 
who  had  grown  to  be  a  kind  of  lodestar  to  Protestant  England. 

The  first  thing  that  impressed  a  courtier  of  the  Stewarts, 
used  to  a  lavish  and  extravagant  habit  of  living,  was  that  there 
was  no  splendour  in  the  plain  dark  room,  the  stern  furnishing 
of  which  seemed  almost  parsimony  in  a  royal  Prince,  nor  any 
manner  of  display  about  the  Stadtholder  himself,  who,  with 
his  own  hands,  shifted  the  candles  in  the  brass  sticks  from 
the  mantelshelf  to  the  table,  and  set  open  the  window  on  the 
summer  woods. 

Arthur  Herbert  looked  keenly  at  him ;  he  had  dropped 
his  hat  and  mantle  on  to  a  chair,  and  his  person  was  fully 
revealed  in  the  steady  red  candle  glow. 

He  was  at  this  time  in  his  thirty-seventh  year,  at  the 
height  of  his  reputation :  the  most  respected  statesman,  one 
of  the  most  feared  generals  and  powerful  rulers  in  Europe,  the 
head  of  the  nation  which  was  supreme  in  trade  and  maritime 
dominion,  the  foremost  champion  of  the  reformed  religion, 
first  Prince  of  the  blood  in  England,  the  close  ally  and  councillor 
of  the  Empire,  of  Spain,  the  Northern  States,  Germany,  and, 
as  it  was  whispered,  of  the  Pope,  the  leader  of  the  English 
opposition,  and  husband  to  the  heiress  of  that  country,  the 
rallying  point  for  the  discontents  and  indignations  of  all  those 
whom  the  King  of  France  had  injured  or  the  King  of  England 
put  out  of  humour. 

This   combination   of   circumstance   and    quality   that   had 

given  him  the  unique   position   he   held,  made  him  the  most 

50 


THE  LETTERS  OF  MR.  HERBERT    51 

discussed  and  famous  figure  at  present  before  the  eyes  of  men. 
Even  where  he  was  abused  and  decried  he  was  never  forgotten, 
and  shared  in  the  minds  of  the  French  almost  as  much 
attention  as  their  own  exalted  King. 

Added  to  his  present  fame  was  the  glamour  of  past 
heroism,  the  history  of  his  splendid  house,  the  great  deeds  of 
his  ancestors,  his  own  breaking  from  unhappy  childhood  and 
desolate  youth  to  power  in  one  day  of  chaos  and  ruin,  blood 
and  despair;  his  almost  miraculous  deliverance  of  his  country, 
constant  devotion  to  it,  and  his  firm  adherence  to  the  persecuted 
religion  were  unique  in  the  history  of  princes,  and  lived  in 
the  minds  of  men. 

The  man  who  was  of  this  estimation  in  Europe,  who 
possessed  so  many  extraordinary  qualities,  and  had  had  so 
strange  a  history,  appeared  to  the  Englishman  as  a  gentleman 
of  no  particular  appearance  of  energy,  rather  below  than  above 
the  middle  height,  and  of  a  frail  physique  and  slenderness  of 
proportion  rare  in  a  man  of  action,  and  which  reminded  Herbert 
of  my  Lord  Shaftesbury,  whose  impetuous  and  fiery  manners 
had  counteracted  the  effect  of  his  feeble  person. 

The  Stadtholder  differed  there,  being  entirely  composed 
and  stately,  and  holding  himself  with  a  certain  stiff  control,  as 
one  trained  to  maintain  dignity  and  the  foremost  place  in 
the  sight  of  men. 

His  countenance  was  manly,  grave,  and  remarkable,  chiefly 
by  reason  of  his  large  brilliant  eyes  of  a  lively  hazel,  sparkling 
and  expressive,  and  his  thick  dark  brown  hair,  which  he  wore 
falling  on  to  his  collar  like  an  old-fashioned  cavalier ;  his  high 
aquiline  nose,  full  mouth  very  firmly  set,  slightly  cleft  chin 
and  hollowed  cheeks,  clear  and  tanned  complexion,  conveyed 
a  subtle  sense  of  youth  and  simplicity,  despite  his  rather  severe 
and  austere  expression,  as  if  at  heart  he  was  still  as  ardent 
as  when  he  wrested  the  three  conquered  provinces  from  the 
French ;  his  face,  though  thin  and  worn,  was  unlined. 

He  wore  a  violet  riding  coat  of  a  heavy  fashion,  and  a 
cravat  of  thick  Bruges  lace  and  a  plain  sword.  Herbert  would 
never  have  taken  him  for  a  soldier.  He  wondered  if  he  would 
ever  please  the  English  as  he  had  done  the  Dutch,  or  courts 
as  he  did  people,  and  was  conscious  of  an  unreasonable 


52  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

feeling  of  incongruity  that  this  should  be  the  man  looked  to  as 
the  saviour  of  England,  indeed  of  half  Europe. 

The  Prince  pulled  off  his  gloves  slowly,  the  while  looking 
on  the  floor.  He  was  seated  the  other  side  of  the  table  to 
Herbert,  who  thought  he  had  found  some  reluctance  or  difficulty 
in  speaking,  perhaps  because  he  was  using  English,  with  which 
language  he  was  tolerably  familiar,  but  spoke  with  no  kind 
of  grace,  but  rather  a  distaste. 

"  You  are  sent  by  Mr.  Sidney  ?  "  he  asked  at  last. 

He  had  a  short,  strong  way  of  speaking;  his  manner  was 
stately  to  coldness.  Arthur  Herbert  looked  in  vain  for  any 
trace  of  emotion  or  curiosity  as  to  the  momentous  errand  he 
must  know  that  he,  Herbert,  had  come  upon,  or  even,  as  he 
reflected  rather  vexedly,  any  welcome  for  himself. 

"  By  Mr.  Sidney  and  some  others,  sir,"  he  answered. 

The  Prince  put  his  gloves  on  the  table,  and  raised  his  eyes. 

"You  have,  Mr.  Herbert,  brought  some  answer  to  my  late 
request  that  some  powerful  English  families  should  give  me 
a  written  invitation  to  this  expedition  to  which  the  Protestant 
lords  have  so  constantly,  and,  of  late,  so  insistently  urged  me." 

Admiral  Herbert  put  his  hand  into  the  breast  of  his  common 
coat,  and  pulled  out  a  sealed  packet,  which  he  handed  to  the 
Prince. 

"This  association,  Your  Highness,  of  which  you  have  had 
advices  from  my  Lord  Shrewsbury  and  Mr.  Sydney,  is  at 
length  signed  by  seven  of  our  great  men,  and  I  pray  Your 
Highness  to  take  it  as  full  warrant  for  interfering  in  the  present 
miserable  estate  of  England." 

After  having  delivered  this  speech,  Admiral  Herbert  looked 
straightly  at  the  Prince,  who  was  slowly  breaking  the  seals. 
He  felt  more  enthusiasm  for  the  cause  than  for  His  Highness, 
and  more  warmly  for  both  when  he  was  not  in  the  actual 
presence  of  the  Prince,  whose  personal  coldness  had  an  ill 
effect  on  the  Englishman's  impatient  nature. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Sidney  his  hand,"  remarked  the  Prince. 

Arthur  Herbert  laid  another  letter  on  the  dark,  shining  table. 

"There  is  also  a  personal  letter  from  that  gentleman." 

William  looked  rapidly  over  the  contents  of  the  packet, 
and  his  thin  cheek  flushed. 


THE  LETTERS  OF  MR.  HERBERT    53 

"  This  is  definite,"  he  said. 

"  Your  Highness  asked  that  it  might  be." 

The  Prince  took  up  the  other  letter,  and  read  it  over  with 
great  quickness. 

"Mr.  Sidney  saith  my  Lord  Nottingham  would  not  sign," 
he  remarked ;  "  is  that  timidity  ?  " 

"Some  manner  of  prudence,  I  suppose,  sir;  but  he  will  not 
betray  our  design.  He  gave  us  leave  to  take  his  life  if  we 
thought  him  capable  of  it;  but  I  believe  he  can  go  even  to 
Court  and  not  discover  any  sign  of  the  concern  he  is  under,  so 
close  a  man  he  is." 

"  Oh,  he  is  honest,"  said  William  dryly.  He  took  up  the  first 
letter  again;  it  was  signed  at  the  bottom  by  seven  numbers, 
thus:  25,  24,  27,  29,  31,  35,  33;  the  Prince  did  not  require 
the  code  sent  him  by  Henry  Sidney  to  discover  the  names 
these  numbers  stood  for;  he  had  the  cipher  by  heart,  and 
knew  that  the  seven  who  had  signed  were  Lord  Shrewsbury, 
Lord  Devonshire,  Lord  Danby,  Lord  Lumley,  the  suspended 
Compton,  Bishop  of  London,  Admiral  Russell,  and  Mr.  Sydney 
himself.  They  represented  a  body  of  opinion  that  was  weighty ; 
if  they  were  not  many,  they  were  powerful,  and  the  Prince 
himself  had  said  that  he  did  not  need  many  names  if  they 
were  those  of  great  families.  Lord  Halifax,  who  had  been  one 
of  his  warmest  supporters,  had  shrunk  from  the  first  hint  of 
anything  so  violent  as  a  revolution,  and  the  Prince  had  forbidden 
the  design  to  be  opened  to  him ;  for  the  scruples  of  Lord 
Nottingham  he  had  also  been  prepared ;  therefore  the  signatures 
were  the  utmost  that  he  could  have  hoped  for;  but  he  gave 
no  sign  of  excitement  or  satisfaction,  but  sat  thoughtfully  looking 
at  the  two  papers  in  his  hand. 

"Mr.  Sidney  saith  that  you  are  well  instructed  in  these 
affairs,  Mr.  Herbert,"  he  said  at  last,  raising  his  great  eyes. 
"  This  paper  is  well  composed  and  comprehensive,  but  it  saith 
nothing  of  how  far  the  King  is  suspicious  of  these  gentler  en  and 
their  correspondence  with  me.  And  that  is  an  important  matter." 

Admiral  Herbert  answered  instantly. 

"The  King  is  kept  amused  by  my  Lord  Sunderland,  sir, 
who  hath  his  entire  confidence." 

"  My  Lord  Sunderland  hath  not  openly  joined  you  ?  " 


54  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"  No,  sir ;  and  in  truth  his  conduct  is  a  mystery,  but  Mr.  Sidney 
hath  a  pledge  from  the  Countess  that  he  will  not  betray  us." 

"  I  am  tolerably  sure  of  my  lord,"  answered  the  Prince 
"  He  hath  control  of  the  foreign  correspondence,  hath  he  not  ?  " 

"Yes,  Your  Highness.  We  have  felt  some  fears  for  M. 
D'Albeville,  the  King  his  envoy  here,  it  being  generally  believed 
that  he  is  in  the  pay  of  M.  Barillon." 

"He  receiveth  some  kind  of  pension  from  him,"  said  the 
Prince  calmly,  "  and  maketh  him  all  manner  of  promises.  But 
he  is  better  fee'd  by  me,  and  I  do  know  that  he  sendeth  beguiling 
letters  home." 

"  Then  I  think  there  is  no  one  likely  to  open  the  King  his 
eyes.  It  all  resteth  now  on  the  resolution  of  Your  Highness." 

The  Prince  very  faintly  smiled. 

"They  suggest  any  attempt,  if  any  be  made,  this  year, 
do  they  not  ?  '  he  said,  instantly  grave  again. 

"At  once,  sir,  is  what  we  should  wish." 

The  Prince  rose  and  crossed  to  the  hearth. 

"  This  winter  would  be  the  soonest,"  he  answered  quietly. 
"Tell  me  more  of  England — it  is  the  King  his  purpose  to  call  a 
packed  parliament  in  the  autumn?" 

Arthur  Herbert  replied  with  a  kind  of  angry  energy  that 
betrayed  the  force  that  had  involved  him  in  these  intrigues. 

"  The  charters  being  taken  from  the  towns,  the  franchise  is 
in  the  King  his  hands,  and  is  only  to  be  granted  to  those  who 
will  swear  to  return  His  Majesty  his  candidate,  the  Protestant 
Lord-Lieutenants  have  been  displaced  by  Catholic,  and  they 
have  orders  to  let  no  one  into  office  who  will  not  consent  to  the 
repeal  of  the  Test  Act — so  we  are  all  officered  by  Papists,  and 
to  be  a  Protestant  is  to  starve." 

"  My  uncle,"  said  the  Prince,  with  an  accent  of  cold  con- 
tempt, "would  never  make  a  good  tyrant;  when  liberty  is 
conquered  'tis  by  more  subtle  ways  than  this." 

Arthur  Herbert's  eyes  sparkled. 

"  I  tell  you,  sir,  that  in  one  place  where  the  electorate  hath 
been  reduced  to  fifteen,  even  these  are  so  little  to  be  relied  upon, 
the  King  was  told  his  man  had  no  chance." 

"  Why,  surely,"  answered  William,  "  the  English  are  not  of  a 
spirit  to  endure  this  monstrous  breakage  of  the  laws." 


THE  LETTERS  OF  MR.  HERBERT    55 

Arthur  Herbert  looked  at  him  again  with  that  half  admira- 
tion, half  dislike;  in  truth  there  was  nothing  in  common 
between  the  two  men  but  enthusiasm  for  the  same  cause — in  the 
one  transient,  impulsive,  based  on  personal  interest;  in  the 
other  strong,  unchanging,  deep  as  life  itself. 

Some  weeks  ago  the  Englishman  had  received  a  letter  from 
the  Prince  offering  him  his  protection,  and  Arthur  Herbert 
could  not  recognise  in  the  quiet  Stadtholder  the  writer  of  that 
warm,  firm,  courteous,  well-turned  letter,  but  none  too  quick  as 
his  perceptions  were,  they  perceived  that  there  must  be  some- 
thing in  this  man  that  he  had  missed;  the  fire  and  ardour 
might  escape  him,  but  it  must  be  there.  Meanwhile,  gratitude 
was  still  his  cue ;  warming  with  a  real  sense  of  the  grievous 
hurts  done  to  the  liberties  of  England,  he  proceeded  to  enlarge 
on  the  text  of  the  letter,  to  paint  the  distracted,  exasperated 
condition  of  the  public  mind  in  England,  the  common  hopes 
of  the  Prince,  the  ardent  desire  among  the  most  prudent  and 
knowing  men  of  affairs  for  his  active  interference  before  the 
packed  parliament  was  called  to  force  the  repeal  of  the  Test 
Act,  the  disbelief  in  the  young  heir  being  a  child  of  the  Queen, 
and  the  small  chance  that  either  the  army  or  the  navy  would  be 
loyal  to  James. 

The  Prince  listened  with  attention  but  no  sign  of  feeling ; 
when  Mr.  Herbert  finished  William  crossed  to  the  window  and 
closed  it,  the  draught  was  setting  the  candles  guttering. 

"  M.  Zuylestein  hath  been  successful  ? "  he  asked,  and 
coughed  a  little. 

"  He  seemeth  a  most  able  man,  sir ;  at  his  secret  house  in 
Greg  Street  all  this  hath  been  considered  and  performed.  We 
did  desire  him  to  remain  in  England  until  we  had  an  answer 
from  Your  Highness,  and,  to  give  a  careless  air  to  his  staying, 
he  hath  gone  into  the  country." 

"  It  is  well,"  answered  the  Prince,  approaching  the  table. 
"  Mr.  Herbert,  you  shall  have  your  answer  very  soon.  I  shall 
to-night  consult  with  M.  Fagel  and  M.  Dyckfelt,  who,  as  you 
know,  were  aware  of  these  affairs  from  the  first  inception  of 
them  ;  to-morrow  I  will  advise  with  you  again.  Meanwhile  I 
will  ask  you  to  take  your  entertainment  at  my  house." 

He  paused  to  draw  breath,  as  he  always  did  after  any  save 


56  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

those  very  brief  sentences  he  usually  employed.  The  asthma  he 
had  had  for  years  was  obvious  in  these  painful  gasping  breaths 
and  constant  coughs. 

"  You  have  done  me  a  great  service,"  he  continued.  "  I  am 
very  much  obliged  to  you;  you  are  a  man  of  spirit." 

Admiral  Herbert  rose. 

"  I  am  greatly  indebted  to  the  generosity  of  Your  Highness ; 
but  there  are  spies  at  The  Hague,  and  it  might  give  a  colour  to 
reports  already  too  persistent  were  I  discovered  to  be  lodging 
with  Your  Highness.  Among  the  fugitives  from  England  in  the 
town  I  am  easily  hid." 

Again  William  gave  his  faint,  instantly  checked  smile. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  are  not  forgetful  of  prudence,  Mr. 
Herbert.  We  cannot  be  too  careful." 

Mr.  Herbert  hesitated,  eyed  the  Prince,  then  said,  with  more 
boldness  than  he  felt — 

"  I  must  tell  Your  Highness  that  there  is  one  matter,  too 
delicate  to  commit  to  writing,  that  hath  been  in  debate  among 
your  friends  in  London " 

"  Ah  ?  "  questioned  the  Prince. 

" — 'tis  the  attitude  of  the  Princess,  sir." 

William  seemed  to  slightly  stiffen  and  straighten. 

"  What  should  her  attitude  be  but  the  same  as  mine  ? "  he 
asked. 

Mr.  Herbert  coloured. 

"  Forgive  me,  sir,  she  is  King  James  his  daughter " 

The  Prince  interrupted — 

"Also  my  wife,"  he  said  quietly,  but  with  extraordinary  force 
and,  it  seemed,  pride.  "  You  shall  hear  the  lady  for  yourself,  sir," 

He  touched  a  heavy  bell  on  the  table  and  a  servant  instantly 
appeared. 

"Request  the  presence  of  Her  Highness,"  he  said,  then 
spoke  again  to  Herbert  when  the  man  had  gone. 

"  It  is  only  just  that  in  this  great  issue  in  which  she  is  so 
intimately  concerned  you  should  hear  her  mind  from  her  own 
lips." 

"  No  one  doubteth  the  loyalty  of  the  Lady  Mary  to  yourself, 
sir,"  answered  Mr.  Herbert,  lying  cheerfully,  for  he  had  been 
one  of  the  most  cynical  in  discussing  this  same  loyalty  in  London. 


THE  LETTERS  OF  MR.  HERBERT    57 

William  coughed  again,  and  seated  himself  by  the  table  with 
his  Frisian  lace  handkerchief  pressed  to  his  lips.  Mr.  Herbert 
was  suddenly  impressed  by  the  fact  that  he  looked  not  only  ill 
but  in  pain. 

A  little  pause  of  silence,  and  the  Princess  entered.  She  had 
changed  her  gown,  and  wore  a  dress  of  the  same  stiff  pattern  in 
white  brocade,  with  tinsel  and  a  ribbon  of  pearls  in  her  hair. 

William  rose  and  gave  her  one  look  as  she  closed  the  door, 
then  lowered  his  eyes  as  he  spoke. 

"  Madame,  Mr.  Herbert  cometh  from  England  with  an 
invitation  to  me  from  my  friends  to  go  there  with  a  force  to 
protect  the  laws  and  the  religion " 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  Mary ;  she  came  straight  to  the  table  and 
dazzled  in  the  candlelight.  Mr.  Herbert  looked  at  her,  and 
noticed  only  her  comeliness ;  he  was  not  a  man  to  distinguish 
types  or  degrees  in  beauty.  If  a  woman  were  pretty,  to  him  she 
was  nothing  more,  and  the  prettier  she  was  the  less  he  credited 
her  with  sense  or  strength.  The  Princess's  air  of  dignity  and 
spiritual  look  did  not  save  her  from  this  judgment;  he  dismissed 
her  as  a  pleasing  young  creature,  useful  for  nothing  save  to  smile 
and  work  fantastic  finery  when  she  was  not  saying  her  prayers. 
He  smiled,  therefore,  at  the  Prince's  grave  way  of  speaking  to  her ; 
she  seemed,  he  noticed,  much  moved,  her  body  quivered,  and 
she  fixed  her  eyes  on  her  husband  with  a  painful  intensity. 

"  You  know,"  he  continued,  with  a  certain  simplicity  that  had 
a  curious  effect,  taken  with  his  great  seriousness,  "  the  project 
that  was  first  suggested  to  me  by  Lord  Mordaunt  a  year  gone ; 
this  hath  been  repeated  by  weightier  men,  and  the  times  are 
riper " 

He  paused  rather  abruptly. 

"  Will  you  tell  Mr.  Herbert  that  you  would  approve  of  this 
undertaking  ?  "  he  finished,  and  with  a  palpable  effort. 

Mary  withdrew  her  eyes  to  fix  them  on  Mr.  Herbert. 

"Surely,"  she  said,  "you  do  not  require  that  assurance 
from  me  ?  " 

She  gave  a  little  weak  laugh,  and  clasped  her  hands  tightly 
and  unclasped  them. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  words  to  choose  to  convince  you  how 
utterly  I  am  in  the  hands  of  my  husband,  nor  how  foolish  I  am 


58  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

in  matters  of  business."  She  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  added,  with 
a  blushing  earnestness,  "  If  circumstances  permit  my  husband 
to  make  this  attempt,  my  will  is  one  with  his  in  the  design, 
which  I  consider  holy  as  well  as  just " 

Mr.  Herbert  bowed,  and  the  bright  young  beauty  added  with 
the  gravity  that  was  her  manner — 

" — but  if  my  husband  his  design  was  not  just,  I  fear  I  should 
still  support  him  in  it ! " 

Mr.  Herbert  could  do  nothing  but  bow  to  this  outspoken 
statement;  if  the  words  were  spontaneous  or  learnt,  lesson 
fashion,  from  the  Prince,  was  no  matter  to  him.  They  set  at  rest 
the  doubts  some  of  the  seven,  particularly  Lord  Danby,  had 
raised  concerning  her  attitude. 

He  took  his  leave  of  the  Princess,  and  she  seemed  like  one 
amazed,  as  if  she  neither  saw  nor  heard  him.  The  Prince  went 
with  him  into  the  antechamber,  and  the  last  look  Herbert  had 
of  Mary  was  the  sight  of  her  standing  quite  still,  with  her  face 
as  pale  as  the  little  braid  of  pearls  in  her  dark  hair,  and  the 
fingers  of  her  right  hand  pressed  to  the  tinsel  bows  on  her 
stiff  bodice. 

In  a  few  moments  the  Prince  returned,  and  then  she  moved 
abruptly  and  took  the  tall-backed  walnut  chair  Mr.  Herbert  had 
occupied,  pushed  it  from  the  table,  and  gazed  up  at  her  husband. 

He  had  still  the  two  letters  in  his  hand.  He  looked  at  Mary. 
With  the  departure  of  the  Englishman  his  manner  had  entirely 
changed ;  this  was  very  noticeable,  though  he  said  nothing. 

"  You  are  fatigued,"  said  Mary  in  a  shaking  voice,  "  so  fatigued 
—I  know " 

He  cast  the  letters  down  between  them. 

"  Oh,  silly  ! "  he  answered,  "  that  must  be  always  thinking  of 
my  fatigues ! " 

He  put  his  thin  hand  over  hers,  that  rested  on  the  edge  of 
the  table,  and  gave  an  excited  little  laugh. 

"  Thou  hast  heard  this  man,  Mary.  ...  I  think  I  am  pledged 
to  an  extraordinary  task." 


CHAPTER   VII 
THE  SILENT  WOOD 

MARY  answered  simply,   but  with  a  dreadful  force   of 
emotion — 

"  You  will  go  ?  " 

He  replied  to  her  tone  more  than  to  her  words. 

"Nay,  I  must."  He  pressed  the  fingers  lying  cold  under  his. 
"  Do  thou  forgive  me,  but  I  must." 

"  Oh,  God  pity  me  ! "  cried  Mary. 

The  Prince  flushed. 

"  There  is  no  other  way  to  preserve  Christendom,"  he  said ; 
"  if  I  do  not  take  this  step  there  is  a  life's  work  wasted,  and  we 
are  no  better  than  we  were  in  '72." 

"I  know,"  she  answered  hastily.  "I  know — but — oh,  that 
our  duty  had  lain  another  way !  Yet  I  will  not  be  weak ;  if  I 
cannot  help  I  will  not  hinder." 

She  bit  her  lip  to  keep  back  tears,  it  seemed,  and  smiled 
valiantly. 

"  Tell  me  all  that  Mr.  Herbert  said." 

He  broke  out  at  that. 

"  These  foreigners !  That  black-avised  stalwart  thinketh  of 
nothing  but  his  own  interest.  He  cometh  here,  in  his  feeble  dis- 
guise, like  a  boy  playing  at  a  game,  and,  by  Heaven,  'tis  the 
manner  they  all  take  it  in " 

"  You  must  not  call  them  foreigners,"  said  Mary,  in  a  quick 
distress ;  "  your  mother's  people  and  mine " 

The  Prince  lifted  his  hand  from  hers,  and  let  it  fall 
impatiently. 

"  Foreigners  to  me  !  Once  I  may  have  felt  that  tie,  but  now  I 
dislike  them  when  they  flatter  and  when  they  sneer."  He  changed 
abruptly  to  a  tenderer  tone.  "  What  had  you  to  say  to  me?" 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered,  "  of  importance  beside  this  news  j 

59 


60  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

only  that  an  old  schoolfellow  of  mine — a  meddling  Papist — 
(God  forgive  me,  but  I  liked  her  not)  sought  to  sound  me 
to-day,  set  on  by  M.  D'Avaux,  who  must  guess  something — but 
what  is  that  beside  this  ?  " 

She  pointed  piteously  to  the  letters. 

"They  have  committed  themselves  now,  these  gentlemen," 
remarked  William,  with  a  certain  grim  satisfaction.  "  They  can 
scarcely  go  back  on  their  written  word,  even  these  weathercocks 
of  Englishmen." 

"  They  want  you  to  go — this  year  ?  "  She  could  not  keep  a 
certain  energy  of  fear  from  her  tone. 

"Before  the  parliament  is  called  in  the  autumn,"  he  said 
concisely. 

Mary  rose  abruptly  and  crossed  to  the  window.  The  rustle 
of  her  stiff  gown  made  a  noticeable  sound  in  the  stillness,  which 
was  deep  and  intense — the  inner  stillness  of  the  house  set  in  the 
outer  stillness  of  the  wood.  The  glance  of  the  Prince  followed 
her.  He  stood  silent. 

"There  must  be  difficulties."  She  spoke  without  looking 
round. 

"  Difficulties  !  Ah  yes,  and  these  English  do  not  guess  one- 
half  of  them." 

She  made  no  reply.  Her  head  bent  and  her  fingers  fumbled 
at  the  latch,  which  she  presently  undid,  and  a  great  breath  of 
cool  air,  pure,  with  the  perfume  of  a  hundred  trees,  swept  into  the 
room. 

The  wood  was  motionless,  the  boughs  dark  against  a  lighter 
sky ;  one  or  two  stars  pulsed  secretively  through  and  above  the 
leafage,  for  all  the  summer  night  they  had  a  cold  look,  as  if 
they  circled  in  far-off  frozen  latitudes. 

Mary  knew  and  loved  the  wood  so  well  that  she  was  sensitive 
to  those  subtle  changes  in  it  which  were  like  moods  in  a  human 
being;  to-night,  unseen,  shadowed  like  the  thought  of  coming 
trouble,  it  seemed  to  her  sad,  mysterious,  and  lonely,  as  the  image 
of  retreating  happiness. 

She  rested  her  head  against  the  mullions,  and  presently  put 
her  hands  up  to  her  face.  Her  husband,  who  had  stood  without 
a  movement  by  the  table  watching  her,  at  this  crossed  over  to 
her  side. 


THE  SILENT  WOOD  61 

"  I  would  to  God,"  he  said  with  energy,  "  that  this  could  be 
helped.  I  would  the  scandal  of  a  break  with  your  father  could 
be  avoided.  But  he  hath  had  every  chance  to  be  my  friend  and 
ally — you  must  admit,  Mary,  that  he  hath  had  every  chance." 

The  few  words  conveyed  to  the  Princess  his  meaning.  She 
knew  that  he  referred  to  his  long  uphill  struggle,  lasting  close 
on  twenty  years,  to  induce  England  to  shake  off  the  yoke  of 
France,  and,  in  taking  her  proper  place  among  nations,  restore 
the  balance  of  power  in  Europe.  Throughout  the  years  of  the 
disgraceful  reign  of  his  Uncle  Charles,  William  had  never  swerved 
from  his  policy  of  endeavouring  to  detach  him  from  France,  for 
it  was  very  evident  that  but  little  headway  could  be  made  against 
Louis  while  England  was  in  his  pay.  When  James  had  come  to 
the  throne,  the  Stadtholder,  with  the  utmost  patience,  had 
changed  his  tactics  to  please  the  new  King,  and  had,  as  he  said, 
given  him  every  chance  to  put  himself  at  the  head  of  the  in- 
evitable conflict  between  France  and  Europe,  which  must  shortly 
take  place. 

Mary  knew  this;  she  knew  how  reluctantly  her  husband 
would  employ  force  against  so  near  a  kinsman,  how  unwillingly 
he  would  leave  Holland,  how  much  long  experience  had  taught 
him  to  mistrust  the  levity  of  the  English,  even  those  most  pro- 
fessedly friendly  to  him,  and  she  was  aware  that  only  a  tremendous 
need  could  force  him  to  this  tremendous  resolution,  which  was 
at  once  more  daring  and  more  necessary  than  any  man  could 
realize  save  himself. 

In  her  heart  she  blamed  her  father  most  bitterly  for  forcing 
on  them  this  hateful  expedient ;  but  would  not  say  so,  nor  open 
her  heart  at  all  on  that  matter,  lest  her  lips  said  more  than  her 
conscience  could  approve. 

So  to  this  remark  that  she  so  perfectly  understood  she 
replied  nothing,  and  did  not  move  her  hands  from  her  face. 

The  Prince  spoke  again  rapidly. 

"Everything  is  strained  to  breaking-point,  and  he  who 
strikes  the  first  blow  will  have  the  advantage.  If  I  go  into  the 
fight  again  without  the  help  of  England,  I  am  no  better  than  a 
man  fighting  with  tied  hands " 

He  paused,  and  added  with  vigour — 

"  We  cannot  do  it  alone.     We  must  have  England." 


62  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

It  was  what  he  had  said  sixteen  years  ago  in  '72,  and  the 
years  had  made  the  need  more,  not  less,  imperative,  He 
continued,  as  if  he  justified  himself  to  that  still  figure  of  his 
wife,  with  her  hands  before  her  face. 

"  I  am  forced  to  this  decision.  No  consideration  of  justice, 
of  ambition,  nay,  even  of  diplomacy  or  good  sense,  can  move 
His  Majesty  to  break  off  with  France ;  his  insults  to  the  liberty 
of  England  are  incredible.  He  hath  done  all  he  can  to  thwart, 
cross,  and  hamper  me.  And  now  is  the  moment  when  we  must 
try  conclusions." 

The  Princess's  white  brocade  shivered  with  her  trembling. 

"  I  know,"  she  murmured — "  I  know." 

But  she  was  weeping,  and  the  tears  ran  down  through  her 
fingers. 

The  Prince  was  at  a  loss  to  know  why  she  was  so  distressed. 
She  had  long  been  involved  with  him  in  the  growing  rupture 
with  her  father,  to  whom  no  affection  or  respect  bound  her, 
only  the  mere  name  of  duty,  and  lately  she  had  been  well  aware 
that  the  actions  of  the  King  were  driving  the  Prince  into  open 
opposition. 

He  looked  at  her,  rather  pale,  and  frowned. 

"You  think  of  your  father  .  .  ."  he  said,  .  .  .  "your 
father  .  .  ." 

Mary,  who  knew  that  tears  vexed  him,  endeavoured  to  check 
her  sobbing ;  but  she  could  not  control  her  voice  to  speak. 

"  I  am  indeed  unfortunate,"  added  the  Prince  rather  grimly, 
"  that  to  do  what  I  must  do  I  am  under  the  necessity  of  the 
scandal  of  a  breach  in  my  own  family." 

She  answered  faintly,  pressing  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes — 

"  God  forgive  me,  I  did  not  think  of  His  Majesty." 

"Of  what,  then?" 

There  was  the  slightest  pause,  and  then  she  answered  steadily, 
still  staring  out  at  the  dark  wood — 

"  Of — ourselves.  Of  the  great  change  this  will  make — 
success  or  failure." 

The  Prince  was  silent. 

"  I  have  been,"  continued  Mary,  very  low,  "  so  happy  here — 
in  the  life  most  suited  to  me,  in  this  dear  country,  where 
every  one  is  so  good  as  to  love  me  a  little." 


THE  SILENT  WOOD  63 

The  candlelight  glimmered  in  the  little  braid  of  pearls  in 
her  hair  and  flowed  in  lines  of  light  down  her  thick  satin  gown, 
showed,  too,  her  cheek  colourless  and  glistening  with  tears. 

The  Prince,  standing  close  to  her,  with  his  back  to  the 
window,  watched,  but  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 

"It  is  nigh  ten  years,"  she  said,  "since  you  went  to  the 
war  .  .  .  and  now  the  peace  will  be  broken  again.  .  .  .  And 
I  know  not  how  I  can  well  bear  it  if  you  leave  me." 

The  Prince  was  still  silent,  and  studied  her  dimly  seen  face 
(for  her  back  was  to  the  light)  with  what  was  almost  a  passionate 
attention. 

"  I  am  a  poor  creature,"  she  added,  with  a  kind  of  desperate 
contempt  for  herself,  "to  think  of  my  wretched  self  at  such 
a  juncture;  what  are  my  own  melancholies  compared  to  what 
you  must  undergo  ?  Yet,  humanly  speaking,  I  have  no  courage 
to  face  this  crisis  .  .  .  that  my  father  should  be  guilty  of  such 
a  horrible  crime  against  Church  and  State,  and  you  bound  by 
your  duty  to  oppose  him  by  force " 

"  It  had  to  be,"  said  the  Prince  sombrely.  "  This  rupture 
was  inevitable  from  the  first,  though  I  tried  to  deny  it  to 
myself.  But  in  my  heart  I  knew,  yea,  ever  since  '72,  that 
England  would  never  get  herself  out  of  this  tangle  from 
within." 

"But  it  is  hard,"  replied  Mary;  "even  though  I  know  the 
hand  of  God  in  it " 

She  turned  her  eyes,  tearless  now,  but  moist  and  misty,  on 
her  husband,  and  added  simply — 

"If  you  knew  how  happy  I  have  been  here  you  would 
understand  how  I  dread  the  mere  chance  of  leaving  it " 

"  I  shall  return,"  he  answered.  "  It  is  not  possible  nor 
wishful  that  I  should  dethrone  the  King;  but  I  will  get  such 
a  handle  to  English  affairs  that  they  will  never  league  with 
France  again ;  and  thou — thou  needest  not  leave  The  Hague 
for  an  hour." 

"There  is  the  least  of  my  troubles  disposed  of,"  she 
answered  sadly.  "For  you  forget  how  your  poor  wife  loves 
you,  and  how  the  thoughts  of  the  manifold  perils,  and  your 
own  rash  temper  that  will  not  regard  dangers,  will  put  me  into 
a  fright  which  will  come  between  me  and  God  Himself." 


64  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

The  tears  gushed  up  again,  but  she  checked  them,  dabbing 
her  eyes  with  a  damp  handkerchief,  while  she  exclaimed  on 
the  gasp  of  a  trembling  laugh — 

"  If  I  cry  any  more  I  shall  be  blind  for  a  week  ! " 

The  Prince  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"'Tis  a  silly  to  spend  tears  for  me,"  he  said,  "who  will  go 
into  no  more  dangers  than  I  have  ever  been  used  to,  and 

who  only  taketh  the  common  risk  of  common  men He 

paused  a  moment,  then  added  abruptly — 

"  Yet  God  He  knoweth  these  tears  of  thine  are  all  I  have 
in  the  world  for  my  solace,  and  I  was  one  of  Fortune  her 
favourites,  child,  to  have  you  to  my  wife." 

His  hand  fell  from  her  white  sleeves,  and  she  caught  it 
between  hers  so  that  the  rings  he  wore  pressed  into  her 
palms. 

"Only  love  and  pity  me  a  little,"  she  said,  "and  I  can 
bear  anything.  For  surely  I  only  live  to  serve  you." 

A  pause  fell,  more  hushed  than  common  silence ;  they  stood 
side  by  side  looking  out  on  to  the  wood,  now  sad  and  dark, 
which  had  surrounded  all  their  united  lives. 

Mary  was  in  that  mood  which  takes  refuge  from  the  real 
facts  in  symbol.  She  did  not  look  back  on  her  life,  but  on 
the  history  of  the  wood  since  she  had  known  it;  radiant  in 
summer,  complaining  in  the  wind,  silent  in  the  rain,  bare 
and  bright  and  wonderful  amid  the  snow,  flushed  with  loveliness 
in  the  spring.  She  thought  that  this  pageant  had  ended  for 
her,  that  though  the  wood  might  bloom  and  change  she  would 
never  see  it  again  after  these  leaves  fell ;  she  had  been  haunted, 
though  not  troubled,  all  her  life  by  the  presentiment  of  an 
early  death,  and  now  this  feeling,  which  she  had  never  imparted 
to  any,  became  one  with  the  feeling  that  the  wood  was  passing, 
ending  for  her,  and  that  all  the  thousand  little  joys  and  fears 
associated  with  the  trees,  the  flowers,  the  sunshine,  and  the 
snow,  were  fading  and  perishing  to  a  mere  memory. 

Her  fingers  tightened  on  the  Prince's  hand. 

"'Tis  such  a  beautiful  night,"  she  said  in  a  strange  voice; 
"it  maketh  me  feel  I  must  die." 

He,  who  all  his  life  had  lived  on  the  verge  of  death,  smiled 
to  hear  these  words  uttered  by  blooming  youth. 


THE  SILENT  WOOD  65 

"  You,"  he  said  calmly,  "  have  no  need  to  think  of  that  for 
many  a  year.  Death  and  you!  Come,  you  have  stared  too 
long  into  the  dark." 

Reluctantly  she  let  his  hand  free,  and  latched  the  window 
with  something  of  a  shiver,  but  smiled  too  at  the  same  time, 
in  a  breathless  way. 

"  What  will  you  do  now  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  Prince  went  to  the  table  and  snuffed  the  candles  with 
the  shining  brass  snuffers,  and  the  flames  rose  up  still  and 
pointed. 

"  I  have  sent  for  M.  Dyckfelt  and  M.  Fagel,"  he  answered, 
and  seated  himself  on  one  of  the  stiff  walnut  chairs.  His  face 
was  bloodless  under  the  tan  of  his  outdoor  life.  The  excitement 
that  had  shown  when  Mr.  Herbert  left  had  utterly  gone;  he 
was  composed,  even  sombre  and  melancholy,  and  his  thoughts 
were  not  to  be  guessed  by  his  countenance. 

Mary  looked  at  him  with  an  almost  terrified  longing  for  him 
to  disclose  his  mind,  to  some  way  speak  to  her,  but  he  seemed 
every  second  to  sink  deeper  into  a  silence  that  was  beyond 
her  meddling. 

She  moved  about  the  room  softly,  picked  up  her  sewing 
from  a  cabinet  in  the  corner,  and  began  disentangling  the 
coloured  cottons  that  had  been  hastily  flung  together. 

The  Prince  looked  round  at  her  suddenly. 

"  Have  you  seen  Dr.  Burnet  of  late  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Yes — he  came  yesterday  when  you  were  out  hunting." 

"  Well,"  said  William,  "  not  a  word  of  this  to  him — I  would 
not  trust  him  with  anything  I  would  not  say  before  my 
coachman." 

Mary  smiled;  she  shared  her  husband's  dislike  to  the 
officious,  bustling  clergyman  who  considered  himself  so  in- 
dispensable to  the  Protestant  cause,  and  who  was  tolerated 
for  the  real  use  he  had  been  to  the  Prince. 

"  Can  you  not  trust  my  discretion  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  gave  her  a  brilliant  smile. 

"  Why,  I  think  you  are  a  fair  Politic,  after  all " 

The  usher,  entering  to  say  that  the  Grand  Pensionary  and 
M.  Dyckfelt  were  without,  interrupted  him,  and  the  Princess,  pale 
and  grave  again,  said  hastily — 


66  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"I  will  go — but  I  shall  be  in  the  withdrawing-room  when 
they  have  gone " 

She  waited  till  William  had  dismissed  the  usher,  then  added, 
in  a  tremble — 

" — You  will  let  me  know  what  you  have  decided  ?  I  could 
not  sleep  else,"  she  added  piteously. 

He  held  out  his  hand  and  drew  her  up  to  him. 

"  Child,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  'tis  already  decided ;  'tis  only  the 
means  to  be  discussed — and  those  thou  shalt  hear  at  once." 

He  patted  her  hand  and  let  her  go.  With  a  kind  of  wild 
gaiety  she  caught  up  her  sewing  silks.  She  was  laughing,  but  it 
was  a  laughter  more  desperate  than  her  gravity.  She  did  not 
look  at  the  Prince  again,  but  hurried  from  the  room,  a  gleam  of 
satins  in  the  sombre  setting. 

The  Prince  looked  after  her,  then  picked  up  the  two  letters 
from  England. 


CHAPTER  V11I 
THE  POLICY  OF  THE  PRINCE 

ASPARD  FAGEL,  Grand  Pensionary  of  Holland,  and 
M.  Dyckfelt,  entered  the  little  room  where  the  Prince 
awaited  them.  They  were  both  statesmen  who  had  been  trained 
under  the  last  Grand  Pensionary,  John  de  Witt,  whose 
Parliamentary  Republic  had  kept  the  Prince  twenty  years  out  of 
his  hereditary  offices,  and  both  retained  something  of  the 
simplicity  and  sternness  of  their  early  life,  especially  M.  Dyckfelt, 
who  wore  the  plain  falling  band  of  the  Republican  era  and  a  suit 
old-fashioned  in  primness  and  sombre  colour. 

He  was  a  cleverer  man  than  M.  Fagel,  who  was  utterly  and 
entirely  under  the  dominion  of  the  Stadtholder,  and  saw  too 
clearly  with  his  master's  eyes  even  to  have  an  opinion  of  his 
own.  His  manner  to  the  Prince  was  the  more  humble,  but  both 
addressed  him  with  that  deep  respect  which  does  not  preclude 
perfect  openness. 

William  looked  at  them  both  sharply,  then  down  at  the  letters 
in  his  hand. 

"  I  have  received  the  invitation  from  England  for  which  I 
have  been  waiting,"  he  said. 

M.  Dyckfelt  bowed,  and  M.  Fagel  answered — 

"  May  I  congratulate  Your  Highness " 

"  Not  yet,"  interrupted  William.  "  Listen  first  to  these  letters 
— they  ask  almost  the  impossible." 

He  made  a  little  gesture  to  the  straight  chairs  the  other  side 
of  the  table,  and  the  two  seated  themselves.  M.  Dyckfelt  had 
flushed  with  eagerness  and  excitement,  M.  Fagel  looked  tired 
and  ill.  They  were  both  considerably  older  than  the  Prince,  both 

men  of  a  fine  type  with  honest,  shrewd  faces. 

67 


68  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

William  drew  his  chair  nearer  the  table  and  held  the  letters 
under  the  glow  of  the  flame  of  the  tall  wax  candles. 

"  These,"  he  said,  looking  down  at  the  flowing  English 
writing,  "  were  brought  me  by  Mr.  Herbert,  whom  I  suppose  you 
met,  M.  Dyckfelt,  in  England,  and  are  written  by  Mr.  Sidney." 

He  paused  with  a  little  cough ;  neither  of  the  other  two  men 
spoke. 

"  In  the  preamble,"  continued  William,  "  they  say  that  they 
are  pleased  to  learn  from  M.  Zuylestein  that  I  will  be  of  assistance 
to  them,  but  they  fear  the  difficulties ;  and  though  every  one  is  so 
dissatisfied  with  the  King  his  government  it  would  not  be  safe 
to  speak  to  them  beforehand — and  though  they  might  venture 
themselves  on  my  landing  they  will  do  nothing  now."  He  smiled 
unpleasantly,  and  added,  "  In  brief,  they  are  on  the  winning  side, 
and  I  must  go  with  strength  enough  to  defend  myself  until  they 
can  be  gotten  into  some  order.  For  the  army,  they  say  the 
discontent  is  such  that  the  King  could  not  count  on  them,  and 
for  the  navy,  they  believe  not  one  in  ten  would  do  him  any 
service  in  such  a  cause." 

"  Mine  own  observations  confirm  this  advice,"  said  M. 
Dyckfelt,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  Prince.  "  And  M.  Zuylestein 
hath  writ  the  same." 

William  made  no  comment  on  that. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  we  come  to  the  gist  of  the  business,  which 
is,  that  these  gentlemen  fear  affairs  will  be  worse  next  year,  both 
by  the  officering  of  the  army  with  Irish  Catholics,  the  calling  of 
a  packed  Parliament  to  pass  the  repeal  of  the  Test  Act,  and 
the  employment  of  violent  means  against  the  remaining  liberties 
of  the  Protestants." 

He  raised  his  brilliant  eyes  to  the  two  intent  faces  opposite. 

"  Therefore  they  wish  me  to  undertake  this  expedition  this 
year." 

A  soft  exclamation  broke  from  Gaspard  Fagel. 

"Can  it  be  done?" 

"If  it  must  be  done  it  can  be  done,"  said  the  Prince  firmly; 
"and  I  think  it  is  'nunc  aut  nunquam,'  M.  Fagel." 

M.  Dyckfelt  gave  a  movement  of  irrepressible  excitement. 

"  Do  they  not  recognise  the  difficulties  of  Your  Highness  ?  " 

William  looked  again  at  the  letter. 


THE  POLICY  OF  THE  PRINCE  69 

"  These  are  their  words,  Mynheer :  '  If  the  circumstances 
stand  so  with  Your  Highness,  that  you  believe  you  can  get 
here  time  enough,  in  a  condition  to  give  assistance  this  year 
sufficient  for  a  relief  under  these  circumstances  which  have  been 
so  represented,  we  who  subscribe  this  will  not  fail  to  attend  Your 
Highness  upon  your  landing,  and  to  do  all  that  lies  in  our  power 
to  prepare  others  to  be  in  as  much  readiness  as  such  an  action  is 
capable  of,  where  there  is  so  much  danger  in  communicating  an 
affair  of  such  a  nature,  till  it  be  near  the  time  of  its  being  made 
public.'  Then  follow  their  difficulties :  '  We  know  not  what 
alarm  your  preparations  for  this  expedition  may  give,  or  what 
notice  it  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  give  the  States  beforehand, 
by  either  of  which  means  their  intelligence  or  suspicions  here  may 
be  such  as  may  cause  us  to  be  secured  before  your  landing ' " 

William  laid  the  paper  down. 

"That  is  their  main  trouble — they  doubt  whether  I  can  be 
so  secret  as  not  to  cause  them  and  all  like  to  support  me  to  be 
clapt  up  before  I  sail — and  wish  to  know  my  opinion  on  it — 
further,  they  mislike  my  compliment  to  the  King  on  the  birth  of 
the  Prince  of  Wales,  which  hath,  they  say,  done  me  injury  among 
the  Protestants,  of  whom  not  one  in  a  thousand  believeth  the 
child  to  be  the  Queen's — and  for  the  rest— dare  I,  will  I, 
adventure  on  the  attempt  ?  " 

He  drew  a  deep  breath  as  he  finished  this  speech,  and  fixed 
his  eyes  on  the  dark,  uncurtained  square  of  the  window  as  if  he 
pictured  something  in  his  mind  too  vast,  too  confined,  for  the 
narrow  room,  and  must  imagine  it  filling  the  silent  night  without. 

M.  Fagel  spoke,  very  low. 

"Your  Highness  doth  not  hesitate?" 

"  I  cannot,"  answered  the  Prince  simply ;  "  for  it  is  the  only 
way  to  gain  England  from  France." 

In  those  plain  words  lay  the  whole  policy  of  his  life — to  gain 
England  from  France,  to  weigh  the  balance  of  Europe  against 
Louis  by  throwing  into  the  scale  against  him  a  nation  so 
powerful,  so  wealthy,  and  anciently  so  glorious  as  England ;  for 
ten  years  he  had  been  at  the  hopeless  task  of  gaining  England 
through  her  King,  now  he  was  going  to  ignore  the  King  and  go 
straight  to  the  people  ;  but  confident  as  he  was  in  his  destiny,  the 
difficulties  of  the  project  seemed  overwhelming. 


70  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

He  turned  again  to  the  letter. 

"  This  is  signed  by  seven  great  lords,"  he  said,  "  but  I  do 
not  know  that  they  are  any  of  them  great  Politics — Mr.  Russell 
and  Mr.  Sidney  are  the  most  knowing  in  affairs,  and  the  last 
sendeth  me  words  of  no  great  encouragement " 

He  picked  up  the  other  letter. 

"  There  is  advice  here  that  I  should  take  M.  de  Schomberg 
for  the  second  in  command,  for  he  is  beloved  in  England." 

"Hath  he  not  been  too  long  in  the  service  of  France?" 
asked  M.  Fagel. 

"  Yet  he  resigned  all  his  posts  when  the  Edict  of  Nantz  was 
revoked,"  said  M.  Dyckfelt.  "And  being  so  staunch  a  Pro- 
testant, and  so  famous  a  captain,  it  would  be  well  if  Your  Highness 
could  borrow  him,  as  Mr.  Sidney  saith." 

"  He  is  very  knowing  in  his  profession,"  said  William,  without 
enthusiasm ;  "  but  I  doubt  he  will  be  too  dear — apart  from  his 
age,  and,  God  forgive  me,  I  do  not  relish  a  lieutenant  of  eighty." 

He  leant  forward  with  one  arm  resting  on  the  dark  table. 
Behind  him  was  the  shadowed  mantelshelf  and  the  dark  picture 
of  a  storm  that  occupied  the  whole  width  of  the  chimney  shaft, 
obscured  in  gloom  and  touched  only  vaguely  now  and  then  with 
passing  glimmers  of  candlelight.  The  Prince's  face,  which  wore 
an  extraordinary  expression  of  concentration  and  resolve,  was 
thrown  out  clearly  against  this  darkness,  for  the  lights  stood 
directly  before  him,  and  the  two  men  watching  him,  almost  with 
suspended  breath,  were  (though  so  familiar  with  his  features) 
powerfully  impressed  by  this  intent  look  of  unconscious  strength 
in  the  mobile  mouth  and  glowing  eyes. 

There  was  the  same  spirit  of  enthusiastic  energy  in  his  words, 
though  his  utterance  was  laboured  and  his  voice  husky  from  so 
much  speaking. 

"  Those  are  the  difficulties  of  the  English,"  he  said.  "  Mine, 
you  know," — he  brought  his  fine  hand  down  lightly  on  the  table, — 
"after  all  they  are — as  always — summed  up  in  one  word — France." 

The  manner  in  which  he  stressed  that  name  was  almost 
startling  in  its  bitterness,  hatred,  and  challenge. 

"Is  it  possible,"  asked  M.  Fagel,  who  was  always  at  first 
afraid  of  the  daring  schemes  of  the  Prince,  "  for  you  to  deceive 
the  French?" 


THE  POLICY  OF  THE  PRINCE  71 

"M.  D'Avaux  is  a  clever  man,"  answered  William  grimly, 
"  but  Albeville  and  Sunderland  will  lull  King  James,  and  even 
I  think  M.  Barillon.  My  Lord  Sunderland,"  he  added,  with  some 
admiration,  "is  the  finest,  most  bewitching  knave  I  have  ever 
met " 

"Then,"  said  M.  Dyckfelt,  "there  are  a  many  at  the  Court 
whose  interest  it  is  to  keep  the  King  deceived — namely,  those 
nobles  whose  letters  of  service  I  brought  to  Your  Highness — 
and  from  what  I  observed  of  His  Majesty  he  was  so  infatuate 
with  his  own  conceptions  of  affairs  as  to  give  scant  hearing  to 
good  advice." 

"That  may  be,"  answered  M.  Fagel.  "But  will  France  be 
so  easily  beguiled?  M.  D'Avaux  at  The  Hague  itself  must 
suspect." 

"He  doth  already,"  said  William,  in  a  kind  of  flashing 
shortness ;  "  but  he  cannot  prove  his  suspicions." 

"Your  Highness,"  asked  M.  Fagel,  still  anxious,  "must  take 
an  army  and  a  fleet  with  you " 

"  You  do  not  think,"  answered  the  Stadtholder,  "  that  I 
would  go  with  a  handful  of  adventurers,  like  my  poor  Lord 
Monmouth  ?  " 

"  Then,"  urged  the  Grand  Pensionary,  "  what  is  to  become 
of  the  States  with  all  their  defences  beyond  the  seas  and  you 
absent  ?  " 

An  expression  of  pain  crossed  William's  face. 

"  It  must  be  risked,"  he  said,  in  his  hoarse,  tired  voice.  "  Do 
you  not  suppose  I  have  counted  these  risks?"  he  added  half 
fiercely. 

M.  Fagel  looked  at  him  straightly. 

"  Will  the  States  permit  Your  Highness  to  take  these  risks  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  I  must  hope  to  God  that  the  States  will  trust  me  as  they 
have  done  before,"  answered  William,  with  dignity. 

"Your  Highness  must  lay  down  new  ships,  raise  new 
companies,  and  under  what  pretence?" 

"It  can  be  done,"  said  William.  "Have  not  Algerine 
corsairs  shown  themselves  in  the  North  Sea?  There  is  one 
excuse." 

M.  Dyckfelt  spoke  now. 


72  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"  I  see  other  difficulties.  I  do  not  think  that  Your  Highness 
need  fear  the  loyalty  of  the  States,  but  what  of  your  Romanist 
allies,  the  Pope  himself?" 

"The  Pope,"  said  William  calmly,  "is  on  the  verge  of  war 
with  Louis  over  the  Cologne  affair,  and  as  long  as  I  stand 
against  France  I  am  assured  of  his  secret  support — and  as  for 
England,  I  have  it  from  a  sure  hand  that  His  Holiness  was  so 
offended  by  the  sending  of  Lord  Castlemaine  as  envoy  that 
all  King  James  his  compliments  to  his  nuncio  have  had  no 
effect." 

He  could  not  forbear  a  smile,  for  in  truth  the  sending  to 
the  court  of  the  saintly  Pontiff  of  a  man  who  owed  his  very  title 
to  an  infamous  wife  was  one  of  those  almost  incredible  blunders 
it  is  difficult  to  believe  even  of  the  stupid. 

"I  have  good  hopes  from  that  incident,"  continued  the 
Prince.  "  The  King  who  made  that  mistake  may  make  others." 

"Ah!  Highness,"  said  M.  Dyckfelt,  "the  mistakes  of  King 
James  will  not  help  you  so  much  as  your  own  wisdom." 

William  glanced  at  the  speaker.  In  the  faith  and  trust  of 
such  lay  his  surest  strength.  These  men,  incorruptible,  clever, 
industrious,  devoted,  and  patriotic,  such  as  the  two  now  facing 
him,  were  the  bulwark  of  the  position  he  had  held  fifteen  years, 
the  instruments  of  all  his  projects.  These  thoughts  so  moved  in 
his  mind  that  he  was  constrained  to  speak  warmly. 

"Mynheer,  neither  on  my  own  understanding  nor  on  the 
mistakes  of  my  enemies  do  I  rely,  but  on  the  services  of  such  as 
you  and  M.  Fagel." 

Praise  was  rare  from  the  Prince  they  served,  and  at  the 
sound  of  it  the  two  grave  diplomats  coloured. 

M.  Dyckfelt  answered. 

"Where  should  Your  Highness  find  perfect  loyalty  if  not 
in  us?" 

"God  be  thanked,"  said  William,  with  a  contained  passion, 
"I  have  no  cause  to  doubt  my  own  people.  But  here,"  he 
added  frankly,  "we  have  to  deal  with  foreigners,  and  those  a 
nation  of  all  others  light  and  changeable  in  politics,  arrogant 
and  wilful.  At  present  every  noble  out  of  office  for  not  attend- 
ing Mass,  and  every  officer  removed  to  give  place  to  an  Irish 
Papist,  is  for  me ;  every  courtier  who  thinketh  the  King  insecure 


THE  POLICY  OF  THE  PRINCE  73 

is  my  very  good  friend,  and  every  country  gentleman  deprived 
of  his  vote  raileth  against  King  James  —  it  will  take  some 
diplomacy,  gentlemen,  to  combine  these  into  a  firm  support 
for  my  design,  and  at  the  same  time  to  conciliate  the 
Catholics." 

"  There  is  a  great  body  of  fanatics  very  eager  to  call  Your 
Highness  their  champion,"  said  M.  Dyckfelt. 

"  The  Hague  is  full  of  them,"  replied  the  Prince ;  "  but  as 
each  man  spendeth  all  his  energies  in  advancing  his  own 
grievances  and  his  own  schemes  there  is  not  much  use  in  them. 
Methinks  the  Tories  are  a  surer  strength,  but  they  love  me  not — 
only  use  me  to  save  their  liberties.  The  Whigs  shout  for  me, 
but  know  me  not " 

"They  are  a  corrupt  and  shallow  people,"  said  M.  Fagel. 

M.  Dyckfelt,  who  had  spent  several  months  in  England 
marshalling  the  discontented  factions,  and  putting  them  under 
the  leadership  of  the  Prince,  answered  this  statement  of  the 
Grand  Pensionary. 

"There  are  many  able,  knowing,  and  patriotic  men  among 
them,  though,  being  out  of  office,  they  are  not  so  commonly 
heard  of  as  the  knaves  who  make  the  ministry." 

William  spoke  with  some  impatience. 

"Heaven  help  me,  I  would  never  trust  an  Englishman, 
unless  it  were  Mr.  Sidney ;  for  when  they  are  honest  they  are 
lazy,  as  Lord  Halifax  and  Sir  William  Temple,  and  too  in- 
different to  business  to  be  stirred ;  and  when  they  are  dishonest, 
which  I  ever  found  the  great  majority,  they  are  the  most  shameless 
creatures  in  the  world." 

"Yet  in  the  present  instant  Your  Highness  must  trust  them." 

William  smiled  grimly. 

"Their  heads  are  on  their  secrecy  this  time,  Mynheer. 
Besides,  I  think  these  men  are  spirited  enough  if  I  can  use 
them  before  their  indignation  cools." 

There  was  a  second's  pause  of  silence,  then  M.  Fagel  spoke. 

"  Your  Highness  will  require  a  vast  deal  of  money." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Prince  dryly ;  "  but  I  believe  that  it  can  be 
raised.' 

"In  England?"  inquired  M.  Dyckfelt. 

" — and  among  the  French  refugees   here — and  from  my 


74  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

own  fortune,  Mynheer,  which  hath  ever  exceeded  my  wants — 
also,  Mynheer,  I  hope  the  States  will  help." 

"  How  great  a  sum  would  it  be,  Highness  ?  " 

William,  who  had  the  whole  project  already  clear  in  his  head, 
and  had  made  careful  calculations  as  to  the  cost,  answered  at 
once. 

"About  three  hundred  thousand  pounds." 

M.  Fagel  was  silent.  His  secret  thought  was,  that  to  raise  this 
money,  overcome  all  opposition,  and  complete  every  preparation 
by  the  autumn  was  impossible. 

The  Prince  was  quick  to  divine  his  doubt. 

"  You  think  I  cannot  do  it  ?  "  he  asked,  with  that  breathless- 
ness  that  was  a  sign  of  his  rare  excitement. 

"  No,  Highness.     I  think  of  France." 

"  France  ! "  cried  William.     "  I  think  of  France  also." 

"  If  they  should  attack  us  while  you  were  absent — or  even 
before  you  were  ready " 

William  lifted  his  hand  gravely  and  let  it  fall  lightly  on  the 
smooth  surface  of  the  table. 

"  Ah,  //— M.  Fagel,"  he  said  solemnly  ;  "  but  that  is  in  God 
His  keeping,  where  all  our  destinies  be — and  we  can  but  fulfil 
them." 

He  smiled  a  little  as  if  he  thought  of  other  things,  and  his 
bright  gaze  again  sought  the  window,  but  instantly  he  recalled 
himself. 

"  I  need  detain  you  no  more  to-night — I  shall  need  to  see 
the  States  separately  and  the  Amsterdamers — everything  must 
be  put  in  train  immediately." 

All  three  rose.  The  two  older  men  were  much  moved  ;  before 
the  mind  of  each  were  pictures  of  ten  years  ago  when  with  the 
same  deliberate  courage  and  heroic  fatalism  the  Prince  had 
pitted  himself  against  France  and  been  forced  by  the  treachery 
of  Charles  Stewart  into  the  peace  of  Nymwegen. 

Ten  years  ago,  and  ever  since  William  had  been  working  for 
and  planning  a  renewal  of  the  war  he  had  then  been  forced  to 
conclude ;  now  it  seemed  that  he  had  accomplished  his  desire, 
and  that  his  re-entry  into  the  combat  would  be  in  a  manner  to 
take  the  breath  of  Europe. 

Grave  men  as  these  two  were,  and  well  used  to  the  spectacle 


THE  POLICY  OF  THE  PRINCE  75 

of  high  policies,  they  felt  that  extraordinary  thrill  which  shakes 
those  about  to  watch  the  curtain  draw  up  on  tremendous 
events. 

They  knew  that  in  that  quiet  little  room  actions  were  being 
resolved  and  put  in  train  that  would  stir  every  court  in  Europe 
and  make  all  the  pomp  of  Versailles  show  hollow  if  successful ; 
and  looking  on  the  Prince,  they  could  not  think  of  failure. 

When  they  had  taken  their  leave,  William  locked  the  two 
letters  in  a  Chinese  escritoire.  Mr.  Sidney  had  requested  that 
they,  being  in  his  known  hand,  might  be  destroyed,  but  the 
Prince  considered  his  desk  as  safe  as  the  fire,  and  was  always 
loath  to  burn  papers  of  importance. 

In  that  same  inner  drawer  where  these  letters  now  lay  were 
offers  of  services  from  many  famous  English  names,  and  that 
correspondence  with  Henry  Sidney  which  had  prepared  the  way 
for  the  invitation  received  to-night ;  also  all  the  letters  from  King 
James  written  since  the  marriage  of  Mary,  which  the  Prince  had 
carefully  kept. 

As  he  turned  the  little  gold  key  in  the  smooth  lock  he 
thought  of  his  father-in-law  and  of  the  personal  aspect  of  his 
undertaking.  Though  he  would  very  willingly  have  avoided  the 
odium  and  scandal  that  he  must  incur  by  a  break  with  so  near  a 
relation,  he  had  no  feelings  of  affection  or  even  respect  for  King 
James.  They  were  antagonistic  in  religion,  character,  aims,  and 
policy.  James  had  opposed  the  Prince's  marriage,  and  ever 
since  he  had  come  to  power  opposed  his  every  wish  and  desire. 
The  withdrawal  of  Sidney  from  The  Hague,  the  sending  of 
Skelton  in  his  stead,  the  attempt  to  recall  and  place  at  the 
disposal  of  France  the  English  troops  in  the  service  of  the  State, 
his  refusal  to  interfere  with  Louis'  insulting  seizure  of  Orange, 
his  constant  spyings  in  the  household  of  the  Princess,  his 
endeavour  to  convert  her  to  his  own  faith,  had  been  all  so  many 
widenings  of  a  breach  that  had  never  been  completely  closed ; 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Prince  knew  that  the  King  had  never 
forgiven  him  three  things — the  League  of  Augsburg  (which 
confederacy  of  the  German  Princes  against  France  was  known 
to  be  his  work,  though  his  name  did  not  appear  in  it),  the  refusal, 
really  his,  though  nominally  the  State's,  to  return  the  English 
troops  or  to  put  Skelton  at  the  head  of  them,  and  his  refusal  to 


76  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

countenance  the  Declaration  of  Indulgence,  even  when  accom- 
panied by  the  tempting  bribe  of  alliance  against  France. 

They  were,  and  always  had  been,  natural  enemies,  despite 
the  accident  of  the  double  tie  of  blood  and  marriage,  and  even 
the  conventional  compliments  of  their  rank  had  long  since  been 
worn  thin  between  them.  William  was  indebted  to  his  uncle  for 
nothing.  James  did  not  even  give  his  eldest  daughter  an  allow- 
ance, while  his  youngest  received  a  princely  income ;  but  the 
Prince,  faithful  to  his  unchanging  policy,  would  have  passed  all 
this,  would  James  have  but  done  what  Charles  had  always  been 
pressed  to  do  by  his  nephew,  namely,  join  the  States  in  an 
alliance  against  France.  The  Prince  had,  indeed,  with  this  end  in 
view,  endeavoured  to  please  the  King  on  his  first  accession,  and 
would  have  worked  with  him  loyally  as  an  ally. 

But  for  the  last  year  he  had  seen  clearly,  and  with  mingled 
wrath  and  pity,  that  James  was  bent  on  the  old  dishonest  policy 
of  packed  parliaments,  French  money,  and  corrupt  ministers, 
added  to  which  was  an  intolerant,  almost  insane,  bigotry  which, 
discountenanced  by  the  Pope  himself  and  displeasing  to  all 
moderate  Catholics,  was  an  impossible  scheme  of  government, 
and  in  William's  eyes,  all  religious  considerations  apart,  the  act 
of  a  madman  or  a  fool. 

And  it  did  not  suit  his  statecraft  to  have  either  on  the  throne 
of  England.  He  had  waited  a  long  time  for  this  country,  which 
he  had  seen  from  boyhood  was  essential  to  his  schemes  for  the 
balance  of  power  and  the  liberty  of  Europe,  and  now  was  his 
moment. 

As  he  walked  up  and  down  the  plain  little  room  he  vowed 
that  the  difficulties  should  be  conquered,  and  that  even  if  the 
Bourbon  lilies  were  flying  over  Brussels  he  would  lead  an 
armament  to  England  that  year. 


CHAPTER   IX 
FRANCE  MOVES 

MIDWAY  through  September  and  a  beautiful  day  of  pure 
gold  the  Prince  was  riding  home  through  the  brown- 
leaved  woods  that  surrounded  his  villa.  Contrary  to  his  custom, 
he  rode  slowly,  and  constantly  checked  his  fine  animal,  for  he  was 
thinking  deeply,  and  those  moments  when  he  rode  to  and  from 
his  house  were  almost  the  only  time  when  he  was  alone  and  not 
under  the  necessity  of  speaking  to  some  one.  He  had  just  come 
from  the  last  of  the  private  sittings  of  the  States,  which  had 
given  their  formal  assent  to  the  gigantic  enterprise  he 
meditated.  He  had  now  no  further  difficulty  with  his  own 
country.  The  merchants,  exasperated  by  the  refusal  of  King  Louis 
to  allow  herrings  and  woven  goods  from  Holland  into  his 
country,  had  stifled  opposition  to  the  Prince  in  Amsterdam.  He 
had  always  been  sure  of  the  rest  of  the  Provinces,  who,  after  the 
late  persecutions  of  Protestants  in  France,  the  refusal  to  allow 
the  Dutch  in  that  country  to  retire  to  Holland,  the  constant 
fears  they  had  been  under  since  King  James  commenced  re- 
building his  navy  and  King  Louis  commenced  his  aggressions  in 
Cologne,  looked  to  the  Prince  with  that  same  passionate  devotion 
as  they  had  done  in  '72,  and  trusted  to  him  to  save  them  again 
from  dangers  little  less  pressing ;  for,  the  last  year  past,  Gaspard 
Fagel  had  been  encouraging  this  dread  of  an  armed  alliance 
between  France  and  England  which  seemed  so  near  consumma- 
tion and  would  be  fatal  to  the  very  existence  of  the  United 
Provinces. 

It  was  from  abroad  came  the  difficulties  that,  for  the  last  six 
months,  had  made  the  Prince's  days  almost  unbearably  anxious ; 
and  as  the  time  drew  near  that  anxiety  became  a  lively  torture 
absolutely  unguessed  at  by  those  who  judged  the  Prince  by  his 


78  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

calm,  almost  cold  quiet.  Certainly  the  Spartan  boy  with  the 
ferret  under  his  cloak  showed  no  more  heroic  fortitude  than  did 
the  Stadtholder  during  these  weeks  of  preparation.  Of  those  who 
surrounded  him  perhaps  only  two,  his  friend  William  Bentinck, 
and  Gaspard  Fagel,  understood  his  position,  and  even  these  could 
not  share  his  sufferings,  however  much  they  might  his  disquietude. 

From  the  allies  whom,  during  the  last  two  years,  he  had  been 
marshalling  into  a  league  against  Louis,  there  was  little  to  fear, 
though  it  required  delicate  handling  not  to  offend  Catholic 
potentates  such  as  the  Pope  and  the  Emperor ;  but  from  France 
was  fearful  and  pressing  danger,  and  England,  where  eventually 
success  or  failure  must  lie,  was  a  suspicious  quantity  to  William, 
who  had  been  tricked  and  dealt  ill  with  (though  never  deceived) 
by  English  politics  all  his  life. 

If  the  certain  news  of  his  expedition  reached  James  and  that 
monarch  clapt  up  the  Protestant  lords  and  united  with  Louis  in 
an  attack  on  the  United  Provinces,  William  would  have  to  face 
another  '72  over  again,  and  with  but  little  better  chance  of  success 
than  he  had  then ;  if  Louis  made  an  attack  on  the  frontiers  of 
Brabant  or  the  Spanish  Lowlands  before  the  Prince  sailed  the 
States  would  refuse  to  allow  his  departure,  and  the  moment  in 
England  would  be  lost,  perhaps  for  ever;  if,  most  terrible 
alternative  of  all,  he  took  all  the  forces  of  his  country,  naval 
and  military,  to  England,  and  there  met  with  opposition,  delays, 
even  defeat — if  James  roused  and  the  English  bulk  were  faithful 
to  him  and  Louis  seized  the  opportunity  to  pour  his  troops  into 
defenceless  Holland  while  her  ships  and  men  were  absent — then 
the  Prince,  who  loved  his  country  with  a  deep  and  intense  passion, 
would  have  to  accuse  himself  as  the  author  of  her  ruin. 

Certainly  he  was  jeopardizing  the  utmost  any  man  could — 
the  dearest  thing  in  the  world  to  him,  beside  which  his  own  life 
was  not  even  taken  into  consideration — and  yet  the  only  other 
course  was  to  risk  this  same  beloved  liberty  of  his  country,  not 
by  violent  means,  but  by  inaction  and  gradual  weakening  before 
a  stronger  power,  and  this  was  against  all  the  teaching  of  his 
race,  all  the  experience  of  his  life,  his  own  imperious  temper,  and 
the  settled  conviction  both  of  his  soul  and  his  intelligence  of 
what  was  the  best,  not  alone  for  Holland  but  for  Europe. 

As   he   approached   the    '  huis   ten    bosch '  he  brought   his 


FRANCE  MOVES  79 

reluctant  horse  to  a  slow  walk.  M.  D'Avaux  had  done  what  the 
Prince  had  long  expected,  requested  a  private,  informal  audience, 
and  William  had  told  him  that  he  should  be  walking  in  the 
garden  at  the  back  of  his  house  that  afternoon.  As  the  time  for 
this  interview  approached  the  Prince  felt  a  weariness  unutterable 
at  the  thought  of  meeting  his  enemy ;  he  knew  very  well  what 
M.  D'Avaux  had  to  say  and  what  his  own  answers  would  be,  and 
a  smooth  passage  at  arms  with  the  French  Ambassador  was  the 
last  thing  suited  to  his  present  temper. 

Day  after  day  he  had  to  listen  to,  arbitrate  among,  encourage, 
check,  guide,  and  advise  the  impetuous,  arrogant  English  gathered 
at  The  Hague,  and  lately  joined  by  men  of  importance  such  as 
my  Lord  Shrewsbury  and  my  Lord  Manchester,  and  this,  to  one 
of  his  reserve,  was  perhaps  the  most  distasteful  side  of  his  task ; 
it  left  him  no  leisure  even  for  his  one  diversion  of  hunting,  since 
it  filled  all  the  little  time  left  from  business,  and  begat  in  him  a 
fatigue  that  longed  for  the  relaxation  of  the  unending  strain. 

He  had  an  almost  feverish  love  of  exercise  and  fresh  air,  and 
as  he  came  within  sight  of  the  plain  front  of  his  house  showing 
at  the  end  of  an  avenue  of  magnificent  trees  he  stayed  his  horse 
altogether  and  sat  still  in  the  saddle  looking  about  him ;  three 
things  that  he  loved  dearly,  clear  sunshine,  pure  salt  air,  and 
intense  quiet  beguiled  him  into  forgetting  for  a  few  seconds  his 
deep  anxieties. 

The  atmosphere  had  that  peculiar  mellow  quality  of  soft  light 
found  only  in  the  Low  Countries ;  the  trees  were  motionless,  and 
their  leaves  hung  clear  cut  from  the  graceful  branches  in  burning 
hues  of  crimson,  gold,  and  brown ;  wreaths  and  twists  of  fallen 
leaves  lay  in  the  damp  cold  grass,  and  fine  brittle  twigs  scattered 
over  the  hard  paths  where  the  frost  had  made  little  glittering 
ridges ;  the  sky  was  blue,  but  blue  hazed  in  gold ;  a  large  piece 
of  water  reflected  the  polished  trunks  of  beeches  patched  with 
moss,  the  twisting  red  roots  of  brambles,  and  the  foxy  colour  of 
broken  ferns ;  two  swans  moved  slowly  along  this  lake,  and  the 
water  was  in  sluggish  ripples  against  their  dead  white  breasts ; 
their  feet  seemed  to  stir  with  difficulty,  and  they  left  a  clear  track 
behind,  which  showed  that  a  thin  breath  of  frost  had  passed  over 
the  water,  dulling  the  surface. 

The  man  on  the  horse  noticed  this,  and  it  brought  him  back 


8o  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

to  what  was  ever  rolling  in  his  thoughts.  If  this  sign  of  an  early 
and  severe  winter  was  made  good,  he  would  have  the  less  to  fear 
for  the  United  Provinces,  since  they  were  almost  impossible  to 
invade  in  the  depth  of  snow  and  ice.  This  was  one  reason  in  his 
choosing  this  season  for  his  expedition.  As  he  watched  the  two 
silent  swans  and  the  film  of  frost  they  displaced,  his  whole  face 
changed  with  the  intensity  of  his  thought;  he  straightened  in 
the  saddle  and  clutched  the  reins  tightly  in  his  thickly  gloved 
hands ;  before  the  frosts  had  ceased  and  the  waters  were  running 
free  in  spring  he  would  deal  with  France  on  equal  terms  or  be 
dead  in  the  endeavour. 

Heated  by  the  wave  of  inner  exaltation  that  shook  him  he 
lightly  touched  his  great  grey  horse  and  took  the  avenue  at  a 
gallop,  drew  rein  at  the  villa  steps,  and  blew  a  little  whistle  he 
carried.  When  the  groom  came  he  dismounted,  and  entering  the 
private  garden  by  the  door  in  the  wall  to  the  right  of  the  house 
walked  slowly  to  the  covered  alley  where  he  had  promised  to 
meet  M.  D'Avaux. 

The  garden  had  the  same  stillness  as  the  wood;  the  late 
chilled  roses  hung  motionless  on  their  stems,  the  curious  agave 
plants  and  Italian  laurels  were  stiff  against  the  wall,  a  deep 
border  of  St.  Michael's  daisies  showed  a  hard  colour  of  purple 
about  the  three  steps  of  the  sundial  and  the  flat  basin  where  the 
fat  carp  s-hook  golden  gleams  under  the  curling  withering  water- 
lily  leaves. 

As  the  Prince  turned  into  the  walk  at  the  end  of  the  garden, 
shaded  overhead  with  ilex  trees  and  edged  with  a  glossy  border 
of  box,  he  saw  the  Frenchman  pacing  the  sunless  path. 

William  touched  his  hat  and  the  Ambassador  bowed.  The 
Prince's  sharp  glance  detected  that  he  was  something  out  of 
countenance. 

"I  wonder,  M.  D'Avaux,  what  you  can  have  to  say  to 
me." 

"  Yet  Your  Highness  is  well  able  to  guess,"  de  Avaux  answered, 
with  the  air  of  a  compliment. 

William  looked  at  him  again ;  he  detested  all  Frenchmen,  and 
since  the  day  when,  a  grave  child  of  eleven  and  a  state  prisoner, 
he  had  sat  sternly  in  his  coach  in  the  Voorhout,  and  refused  to 
yield  precedence  to  M.  D'Estrees,  he  had  especially  hated  the 


FRANCE  MOVES  81 

French  envoys  to  the  States,  who  had  always  been,  in  the  truest 
sense,  his  enemies;  the  only  thing  that  softened  him  to  M. 
D'Avaux  was  that  diplomat's  cleverness.  The  Prince,  who  loved 
a  worthy  antagonist,  admired  him  for  his  real  wit  and  skill  in  the 
long  and  bitter  game  that  had  been  played  between  them ;  never- 
theless, there  was,  in  the  full  bright  glance  he  cast  on  him,  a 
quality  that  his  antagonist  did  not  mistake. 

"  I  fear,"  added  the  Ambassador,  "  that  I  do  not  find  Your 
Highness  very  well  disposed  towards  me." 

"This  is  matter  of  business,  is  it  not,  Monsieur?"  answered 
the  Prince.  "  When  you  have  opened  your  subject  I  will  dis- 
cover my  disposition  to  it." 

They  were  walking  up  and  down  the  long  walk;  the  thick 
gold  sunshine  slipped  through  the  ilex  branches  and  flickered  on 
the  Frenchman's  black  satins  and  the  Prince's  heavy  fur-edged 
cloak.  M.  D'Avaux  held  his  hat  in  his  hand,  but  the  Prince  still 
wore  his  brown  beaver. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  the  Frenchman,  in  his  quiet,  pleasant 
manner,  but  with  obvious  indication  of  the  concern  he  was  under, 
"  that  I  have  had  so  few  opportunities  of  assuring  you  in  what 
esteem  my  master  holdeth  Your  Highness " 

William  made  no  reply. 

"These  are  no  idle  words,"  continued  M.  D'Avaux,  fingering 
the  black  curls  of  his  peruke  on  his  breast.  "  Despite  all  un- 
fortunate differences,  His  Majesty  hath,  as  all  Europe,  a  great 
admiration  for  the  courage,  wisdom,  and  address  of  Your 
Highness " 

"  Is  it  not  rather  late  for  these  compliments,  M.  D'Avaux  ?  " 

"There  is  an  object  in  them,  Monseigneur,"  answered  the 
Ambassador ;  "  for  in  consequence  of  the  feeling  of  His  Majesty 
to  Your  Highness  I  am  speaking  to  you  now  instead  of  to  the 
States." 

"  Ah,"  said  William.  He  switched  at  the  box  hedge  with  his 
short  riding-whip.  "  Do  you  not,  Monsieur,  consider  myself  and 
the  States  as  one?" 

"History,  Monseigneur,  showeth  that  the  House  of  Orange 
and  the  United  Provinces  have  not  always  been  of  the  same 
sentiments  and  design." 

"  They  are  so,  however,  now,  Monsieur,"  answered  the  Prince 
6 


82  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

dryly ;  "  and  whatever  your  business,  you  may  put  it  before  myself 
or  the  States,  whichever  you  choose." 

M.  D'Avaux  bit  his  lip ;  he  read  in  William's  curt  words  a 
reminder  that  he  was  absolute  with  the  States  and  more  confident 
than  ever  of  his  power  over  them ;  he  was  nettled  into  a  colder 
tone. 

"  Yet  I  think  that  Your  Highness  would  rather  hear  me  than 
let  me  take  my  message  to  Their  High  Mightinesses." 

William  coughed.  His  cloak  was  fur-lined,  but  he  constantly 
shivered ;  the  shade,  even  of  a  September  day,  was  hateful  to 
Aim. 

"  Come  into  the  sun,"  he  said,  and  turned  out  of  the  alley 
into  the  clear-lit  garden.  They  walked  slowly  towards  the  sundial 
and  the  carp  basin,  M.  D'Avaux  prodding  the  hard  gravel  with 
his  cane  and  the  Prince  with  his  switch  under  his  arm. 

"  Well,  your  business,"  said  William  calmly. 

"  Monseigneur,"  replied  M.  D'Avaux,  with  sincerity  and  some 
earnestness,  "  I  think  that  you  are  embarked  on  a  dangerous 
enterprise." 

"  The  French  say  so,"  answered  the  Prince.  "  I  have  been 
told  of  the  most  extraordinary  reports  in  your  gazettes  and 
pamphlets." 

"  I  do  not  obtain  my  information  from  gazettes  and  pamphlets, 
Your  Highness,"  answered  the  Ambassador  firmly,  "but  from 
more  reliable  sources." 

William  paused  by  the  carp  pond  and  the  bed  of  violet  daisies. 

"  What  is  your  information  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  The  last  which  Your  Highness  would  wish  in  the  hands  of 
France." 

"You  seem  to  think,  Monsieur,"  said  William,  with  the 
shadow  of  a  smile,  "  that  I  am  an  enemy  of  His  Majesty." 

He  was  not  looking  at  the  Frenchman,  but  down  at  the  bed 
of  daisies  that  he  stirred  gently  with  his  whip  as  he  spoke. 
M.  D'Avaux  looked  sharply  at  his  haughty  aquiline  profile,  and 
answered  with  a  quickening  of  the  breath — 

"  His  Majesty  cannot  forget  what  you  said  at  your  table  a 
year  ago,  Monseigneur.  You  said,  Your  Highness,  when  you 
heard  that  His  Majesty  had  seized  and  dismantled  Orange  on 
the  claim  of  the  House  of  Longueville,  that  you  would  teach 


FRANCE  MOVES  83 

him  what  it  was  to  insult  a  Prince  of  Orange,  and  you  refused  to 
retract  or  explain  the  words." 

"His  Majesty,"  replied  William,  "hath  neither  retracted  nor 
explained  the  deed." 

"Your  Highness  has  often  repeated  those  words." 

The  Prince  lifted  his  brilliant  eyes. 

"  I  shall  repeat  them  again,  Monsieur,"  he  said,  in  his  strained 
low  voice,  "  and  again  until  I  obtain  satisfaction." 

He  saw  that  M.  D'Avaux  had  made  the  allusion  to  humiliate 
him,  and  though  there  was  no  sign  of  it  in  his  countenance  the 
shaft  had  told,  for  the  insulting  seizure  of  his  personal  princely 
apanage,  for  which  he  had  been  powerless  to  avenge  himself,  had 
been  the  hardest  to  bear  of  all  the  insolences  of  France,  and  the 
revenues  had  been  a  real  loss. 

"  You  see,"  bowed  M.  D'Avaux,  "  that  we  have  some  reason 
to  believe  Your  Highness  the  enemy  of  France." 

The  Prince  continued  to  look  at  him  steadily. 

"  His  Christian  Majesty  is  very  interested  in  my  affairs,"  he 
said. 

11  It  is  the  affairs  of  King  James,"  returned  the  Frenchman, 
with  some  grandeur,  "  that  my  master  is  interested  in " 

"  How  doth  that  touch  the  States  ?  " 

"  It  toucheth  Your  Highness,  for  we  believe  that  you  make 
preparations  to  lead  an  armament  against  His  Britannic  Majesty." 

William  lowered  his  eyes  almost  disdainfully. 

"I  perceive,"  he  said,  "that  you  do  get  your  information  from 
the  gazettes  after  all " 

"  No,"  answered  M.  D'Avaux  softly.  "  I  will  tell  Your  High- 
ness where  I  get  my  information.  You  know  of  one  Verace,  of 
Geneva  ?  " 

The  Prince's  whip  still  stirred  leisurely  among  the  daisies. 

"  He  was  steward  once  to  the  Princess  and  dismissed." 

"As  early  as  August,  Monseigneur,  this  Verace  wrote  to 
M.  Skelton  giving  information  of  the  intrigues  of  Your  Highness, 
the  Princess,  and  M.  Bentinck." 

He  watched  the  effect  of  his  shaft,  but  the  Prince  was 
unmoved. 

"  You  might  as  well  quote  the  gazettes,  Monsieur,"  he  said. 

"  These  letters,  Your  Highness,  were  sent  by  M.  Skelton  to 


84  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

my  Lord  Sunderland,"  replied  M.  D'Avaux,  "and  he  took  no 
heed  of  them — we  have  reason  to  believe  that  they  never  reached 
the  King." 

William  answered  dryly — 

"  None  of  this  is  very  interesting,  Monsieur.  You  have  had 
the  assurances  of  M.  Van  Citters  in  London,  of  M.  Castagnana, 
King  James  himself  is  content,  M.  D'Albeville  is  content,  and  it 
is  not  for  France  to  take  this  part  of  interfering  on  the  informa- 
tion of  cast-off  servants." 

"I  have  had  other  news  from  Rome,"  said  M.  D'Avaux 
coldly,  "of  the  intrigues  of  Your  Highness  with  the  Vatican. 
Your  Highness,  methinks,  knoweth  something  of  some  letters 
which  went  in  to  the  Pope  in  a  basket  of  wax  fruit." 

William  gave  him  a  quick  glance. 

"Take  these  advices  to  the  court  of  England,  which  they 
concern,  Monsieur." 

"  Your  Highness  is  very  well  aware  that  all  the  foreign  in- 
telligence that  goeth  to  England  is  under  the  control  of  M.  de 
Sunderland — who  is  your  very  good  friend." 

The  Prince  faintly  smiled. 

"  I  thought  M.  de  Sunderland  was  believed  the  very  good 
friend  of  France." 

"He  may,"  said  M.  D'Avaux,  rather  hotly,  "deceive  M. 
Barillon,  but  he  doth  not  deceive  me." 

"It  is  unfortunate,"  remarked  the  Prince,  "that  you  are  not 
Ambassador  to  London.  I  think  your  abilities  wasted  here, 
Monsieur." 

"  I  thank  Your  Highness."  He  bowed  grandly.  "  Such  as  my 
talents  are,  I  find  scope  for  them  at  The  Hague — I  only  regret 
that  my  confrere  is  no  longer  M.  Skelton." 

He  said  this  knowing  that  M.  Skelton  was  detested  by  the 
Prince,  who  had  made  his  residence  in  Holland  unendurable  to 
him.  The  dislike  was  returned  by  the  Englishman,  who  was  the 
close  ally  of  M.  D'Avaux  in  the  attempt  to  expose  and  ruin  the 
plans  of  William.  William,  however,  had  triumphed  in  ousting 
Skelton  from  The  Hague,  and  his  successor,  D'Albeville,  was, 
as  M.  D'Avaux  knew  to  his  vexation,  a  mean  creature  that  no 
one  could  long  depend  on. 

"M.  Skelton,"  said   the   Prince,    "is   no   doubt   extremely 


FRANCE  MOVES  85 

useful  in  Paris.  And  I  must  ask  you,  Monsieur,  to  let  me  know 
the  true  object  of  this  audience,  which  was  not,  I  think,  to  discuss 
these  puerile  rumours." 

The  Frenchman  flushed;  he  had  always  found  the  Prince 
difficult  to  come  to  conclusions  with.  William  had  a  short,  flash- 
ing way  of  scorn,  an  inscrutable  calm,  that  even  now,  when, 
in  his  certain  knowledge  of  the  Prince's  intended  enterprise, 
M.  D'Avaux  decided  he  had  the  upper  hand,  was  difficult  to  face. 

M.  D'Avaux  felt  himself,  as  always,  confused  and  heated  ;  he 
believed  that  the  Prince  was  laughing  at  him  and  at  France,  and 
a  wave  of  anger  shook  him  both  against  the  supine  James  who 
would  not  be  roused,  and  his  own  government  who  would  not 
credit  half  the  information  he  sent  home.  He  tried  that  dry 
directness  which  his  opponent  employed  with  such  effect. 

"  Your  Highness  will  scarcely  deny  that  you  intend  a  descent 
on  England?" 

"  I  should,"  answered  William,  "  be  a  fool  if  I  did  not  deny 
it  when  asked  by  you,  Monsieur." 

M.  D'Avaux  thrust  his  cane  into  the  crevices  of  the  stone 
pedestal  of  the  sundial. 

"  Whatever  Your  Highness  may  say — I  know." 

"  Ah  ! "  answered  William,  "  but  can  you  prove  ?  " 

"  To  the  satisfaction  of  my  own  intelligence,  Monseigneur," 
said  M.  D'Avaux  vigorously.  "You  cannot  suppose  that  I  have 
been  unobservant  as  to  your  measures  since  the  beginning  of  the 
year." 

William  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  carp  sluggishly  moving 
round  the  fountain  basin. 

"  It  would  interest  me,  M.  D'Avaux,"  he  said,  "  to  hear  what 
you  have  discovered  of  these  measures  of  mine." 

"  You  shall  hear,  Monseigneur."  The  Frenchman  spoke  as  one 
spurred  and  goaded.  "  For  one  thing,  I  know  that  you  obtained 
four  million  guilden  from  the  States  for  repairing  the  fortifications 
of  Brabant — that  this  money  was  to  be  payable  in  four  years, 
and  you  have  raised  it  in  one.  Your  Highness  hath  the  money, 
and  the  forts  are  untouched." 

William  was  silent. 

"Another  public  fund  of  equal  value  you  have  diverted 
from  its  proper  use ;  you  have  farmed  out  the  revenues  of  the 


86  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

Admiralty,  and  this,  with  your  own  great  fortune,  maketh  Your 
Highness  master  of  a  huge  treasure — apart  from  the  money  you 
are  constantly  raising  among  the  French  and  English  refugees. 
For  what  purpose  is  all  this  wealth  intended  ?  " 

"  You  say  you  know,"  replied  William,  without  looking  up. 
"  And,  my  faith,  what  kind  of  an  answer  can  you  expect  from  me  ?  " 

"  Your  Highness  can  give  no  good  reason." 

"  None  of  any  sort,  to  you,  on  any  part  of  my  conduct,"  said 
the  Prince  coldly.  "  You  already  overstep  your  province." 

Pale,  but  firm,  M.  D'Avaux  stood  his  ground. 

"  I  do  not  overstep  my  duty  to  my  master  if  I  ask  why  Your 
Highness  persuaded  the  States  to  build  forty  new  ships  of  war, 
and  secretly  added  twelve  by  your  own  authority — why  these 
ships  were  sent  publicly  to  remote  stations  and  secretly  brought 
back — why  a  great  army  is  encamped  at  Nymwegen — why  M. 
Bentinck  is  so  continually  closeted  with  the  Elector  and  Your 
Highness  with  the  States,  the  German  Princes,  the  Landgrave 
of  Hesse  and  M.  Castagnana — why  seven  thousand  Swedish 
mercenaries  have  been  hired,  and  a  huge  number  of  Dutch 
soldiers  and  sailors  secretly  raised  and  privately  drilled?" 

The  Prince  turned  his  back  to  the  sundial,  so  that  he  faced 
the  Ambassador ;  his  hands,  clasped  behind  him,  held  his  riding- 
whip  ;  his  face  was  inscrutable. 

"  Well,  what  else  ?  "  he  asked  dryly. 

"  Only  this,  that  Your  Highness  and  your  creatures  may  de- 
ceive the  King  of  England  into  thinking  it  is  against  Denmark 
and  the  Corsairs  that  all  these  preparations  are  being  made,  but 
you  cannot  so  deceive  the  King  of  France." 

"  And  yet,"  returned  the  Prince,  "  I  thought  His  Majesty 
gave  but  a  cold  attention  to  your  alarms." 

This,  accompanied  by  a  pointed  smile,  told  M.  D'Avaux  that 
William  was  quite  well  aware  that  it  had  not  been  so  easy  to 
rouse  Louis  to  a  sense  of  his  danger.  The  Frenchman  bit  his  lip ; 
he  had  a  master-stroke  in  reserve. 

"  Your  Highness  is  a  very  able  Prince,"  he  said,  on  an  oblique 
line  of  attack,  "  but  my  master  pays  well  and  is  well  served.  I 
know  who,  under  so  many  different  names  and  pretences,  pur- 
chaseth  and  hireth  transport  boats  in  so  many  different  ports ;  I 
know  who  ordereth  the  bakers  of  Amsterdam  to  make  biscuit, 


FRANCE  MOVES  87 

the  saddlers  to  make  bridles  and  saddles — why  all  the  artillery 
is  leaving  the  towns  and  coming  down  to  the  coasts — why 
magazines  of  hay  are  waiting  in  all  the  seaports,  and  why  English 
noblemen  are  living  furtively  at  The  Hague." 

He  paused  and  looked  narrowly  at  the  Stadtholder,  who,  he 
was  confident,  must  be  taken  aback  at  this  knowledge  of  his 
plans ;  but  the  Prince  was  so  immovable  that  the  wild  thought 
occurred  to  M.  D'Avaux — is  it  really  Denmark  or  his  own 
country,  as  King  James  contends  ? 

"  I  cannot  conceive  why  you  come  to  me  with  this,"  said 
William. 

"To  warn  you,  Monseigneur." 

"  Of  what  ?  "  flashed  the  Prince. 

"  Of  France,"  answered  M.  D'Avaux  impressively. 

William  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  You  should  know  better  than  to  seek  to  frighten  me,  M. 
D'Avaux.  I  am  not  by  nature  timorous." 

"  I  warn  Your  Highness,"  repeated  the  Ambassador.  "  I 
remind  you  that  you  are  not  a  sovereign  Prince." 

"  I  rule  a  sovereign  state,  Monsieur." 

"The  first  magistrate  of  a  republic,  Monseigneur,  cannot 
behave  as  a  king.  Since  Your  Highness  will  give  me  no  satis- 
faction, I  shall  go  to  the  States." 

"  You  will  do  as  you  wish,"  answered  William ;  "  but  you  are, 
nevertheless,  perfectly  well  aware  that  I  rule  the  States." 

M.  D'Avaux  bowed. 

"Give  me  credit  for  that  discernment — the  card  I  play  is 
not  an  appeal  from  Your  Highness  to  the  States " 

"What  then?" 

The  Frenchman  moved  a  little  farther  back,  still  in  a 
courtier's  attitude,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  looking  intently  at 
the  Prince,  who  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  sundial  with  the  violet 
daisies  brushing  his  cloak  and  boots. 

"  Mr.  Skelton  hath  prevailed  on  M.  de  Louvois  to  command 
me  to  say  to  the  States  that  there  is  such  friendship  between  His 
Majesty  and  King  James  that  any  attack  on  Britain  would  be 
regarded  in  the  same  light  as  an  attack  on  France.  That,"  added 
M.  D'Avaux  softly,  "  may  make  the  States  see  their  interests  as 
different  from  those  of  Your  Highness." 


88  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

William  gave  not  the  least  sign  of  surprise  or  confusion. 

"  So  it  is  M.  Skelton's  advice  to  endeavour  to  frighten  the 
States  ?  "  he  remarked. 

"  I  shall  deliver  my  message  to-morrow,"  said  M.  D'Avaux, 
"and  then  Your  Highness  will  see  if  the  States  are  prepared  for 
an  attack — an  instant  attack  on  their  frontiers — if  they  are 
prepared  to  allow  you  and  their  whole  strength  to  leave 
a  country  which  France  is  menacing.  You  saved  the  Pro- 
vinces in  '72 — without  you  they  could  not  save  themselves 
now " 

"  You  must  follow  out  your  instructions,  Monsieur,"  said 
the  Prince. 

He  stepped  down  from  the  sundial  and  looked  narrowly  at 
the  Ambassador. 

"  You  have  nothing  more  to  say  ?  "  he  added. 

"  Nothing,  Monseigneur,  unless  Your  Highness  can  give  me 
the  assurances  I  was  bid  to  ask " 

"  What  would  be  the  use  of  that,  Monsieur,  when  you  know, 
as  you  say,"  returned  the  Stadtholder. 

M.  D'Avaux  was  slightly  baffled  ;  he  thought  that  the  Prince 
must  betray  more  concern  unless  he  had  some  counter-stroke  to 
this  of  the  threat  to  the  States. 

He  answered  with  dignity — 

"Then  I  need  trouble  Your  Highness  no  further." 

"  Very  well,"  answered  William.  "  I  am  sorry  that  you  have 
wasted  your  time,  Monsieur;  but  I  always  was  of  a  tolerably 
positive  disposition,  and  difficult  to  turn." 

"All  Europe  knoweth  that,"  answered  M.  D'Avaux,  with  a 
little  flush  ;  for  the  Prince's  words  were  an  obvious  assertion  of 
the  fact  that  he  would  not  alter  his  plans  for  any  French  threats 
— an  obvious  challenge. 

They  walked  down  the  hard  gravel  path  between  the  beds 
of  late  roses.  At  the  garden  gate  the  Prince  parted  from  M. 
D'Avaux  with  that  simplicity  which  was  his  natural  manner,  but 
generally  credited  to  him  for  guile. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  this  courtesy,"  he  said.  "  Au 
revoir.  Monsieur." 

"I  thank  Your  Highness,"  answered  M.  D'Avaux,  with  a 
grand  bow. 


FRANCE  MOVES  89 

The  Prince  closed  the  gate  on  him,  and  went  instantly  into 
the  house  by  the  back  entrance.  And  so  straight  to  his  private 
room,  where  a  little  company,  consisting  of  M.  Fagel,  M. 
Bentinck,  M.  Dyckfelt,  the  envoy  of  M.  Castagnana,  Governor 
of  the  Spanish  Netherlands,  the  envoy  of  the  Elector  of 
Hanover,  a  Prince  of  Lunenburgh,  and  the  Landgrave  of  Hesse 
were  awaiting  him. 

They  all  rose  at  his  entrance.  He  came  swiftly  and  breath- 
lessly to  the  table,  flung  off  his  hat,  and  said — 

"Gentlemen,  M.  D'Avaux  knoweth  everything — that  villain 
D'Albeville  hath  betrayed  us.  There  is  a  bomb  to  be  dropped 
to-morrow  that  is  like  to  blast  us  all." 


CHAPTER    X 
THE  ENGLISH  AMBASSADOR 

MD'ALBEVILLE  ?  "  echoed  the  Landgrave. 
"It    can    be    none    other,    Highness,"    answered 
William,  with   energy.     "No   one   else  was  privy  to  my  Lord 
Sunderland  his  part " 

M.  Fagel  gave  a  quick  exclamation. 

"  He  knoweth  that  ?  " 

"  Yes — he  scenteth  it,"  said  the  Stadtholder  grimly.  "  And 
he  hath  a  pretty  idea  of  the  preparations,  only  he  doth  not 
guess  either  their  magnitude  nor  their  forwardness." 

He  seated  himself,  and  the  others  took  their  places  again. 
There  was,  in  the  whole  assembly,  a  breathless  air  of  expectation 
and  excitement.  The  room  was  full  of  steady  mellow  sunshine, 
which  brought  out  every  detail  of  the  persons  of  the  gentlemen 
about  the  walnut  table  and  glimmered  in  the  fair  hair  of  M.  de 
Lunenburgh,  who  sat  facing  the  window. 

The  Stadtholder  glanced  round  these  intent  faces  and  took 
off  his  gloves,  unclasped  his  cloak,  and  said,  in  a  passionate 
voice,  directly  addressing  the  Grand  Pensionary — 

"  M.  Fagel,  the  design  is  to  frighten  the  States,  by  declaring 
that  any  design  against  England  will  at  once  provoke  France 
into  an  attack  on  the  Provinces." 

M.  Fagel  was  silent.  This  stroke  was  unexpected  and 
tremendous.  If  Louis  fell  on  the  frontiers  of  the  States,  Their 
High  Mightinesses  would  certainly  not  permit  the  Prince  and 
the  army  to  sail  for  England. 

"  You  know  my  opinion,"  continued  William,  looking  at  the 
Spaniard,  "that  if  M.  de  Castagnana  can  but  keep  Ostend, 
Mons,  and  Namur  till  the  spring,  I  shall  then  have  settled  this 
English  business,  and  be  able  to  return  with  a  sufficient  force  to 
drive  the  French  out  of  Flanders." 


THE  ENGLISH  AMBASSADOR  91 

"  I  think,"  said  M.  Fagel,  "  that  the  States  would  not  take 
the  risks,  and  this  threat  from  France  will  have  a  very  ill  effect 
among  the  common  people." 

"And,"  added  M.  Dyckfelt,  who  had  primary  charge  of 
English  affairs,  "  if  M.  D'Avaux  and  M.  Skelton  succeed  in  un- 
deceiving King  James  as  to  the  true  design  of  M.  de  Sunderland 
that  would  be  a  shrewd  blow " 

"  One  which  shall  not  be  delivered,"  said  the  Prince  firmly. 
"  M.  de  Sunderland  is  the  one  man  who  can  keep  the  foreign 
intelligence  from  the  King,  and  he  stayeth  in  office.  M. 
D'Albeville  is  a  dirty  tool,  but  there  is  more  use  to  be  got  out 
of  him " 

"But  he,  Your  Highness,  you  say  hath  betrayed  us?" 
questioned  M.  de  Hesse. 

"  And  now  he  can  betray  them,"  said  William.  "  By  Heaven, 
Highness,  do  you  think  we,  at  this  stage  of  our  endeavours,  shall 
trip  over  an  insect  like  this  D'Albeville  ?  " 

He  finished  his  sentence  with  a  smile  at  M.  de  Hesse.  He 
was  himself  of  a  German  House,  a  German  Prince  and  a 
Grandee  of  the  Holy  Empire,  and  had  alway  an  affection  for 
and  a  powerful  influence  over  the  Landgraves,  Electors,  and 
Princes  who  made  up  the  German  confederacy. 

M.  de  Hesse  responded — 

"  We  are,  as  ever,  ready  to  do  what  Your  Highness  thinketh 
fit  in  this  juncture." 

"  Ah ! "  answered  William  warmly.  "  I  should  do  ill  to  fail 
with  such  friends " 

"  Should  we  not,"  asked  M.  Bentinck,  "  consult  with  some 
of  the  English  at  The  Hague  ?  " 

"No,"  said  the  Stadtholder  firmly.  "They  have  none  of 
them  any  conception  of  continental  affairs,  and  at  present  are 
engaged  in  disputing  over  the  form  of  the  Declaration,  for  they 
seem  already  to  be  split  into  very  decided  parties." 

M.  Fagel  and  M.  Dyckfelt  both  considered  it  a  mistake  not 
to  more  fully  trust  the  English  nobles,  but  both  were  aware  that 
the  Prince's  distrust  of  that  nation  (but  too  well  founded  on 
experience)  was  not  to  be  shaken. 

The  German  Princes  and  Ministers  were  willing  enough  to 
keep  the  threads  of  the  coalition  as  much  as  possible  in  their 


92  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

own  hands,  and  none  of  them  could  believe  that  a  youth  like 
Lord  Shrewsbury  and  an  eccentric  rake  like  Lord  Mordaunt 
could  be  of  use  in  serious  counsels. 

The  envoy  of  the  Elector  of  Hanover  proceeded  to  lay 
before  William  the  plans  for  the  fortifications  of  the  Rhine  which 
the  Germans  had  agreed  to  defend  with  troops,  replacing  those 
withdrawn  by  the  States,  in  the  same  way  as  M.  de  Castagnana 
had  engaged  to  fortify  the  frontier  of  Brabant  on  the  side  of 
Flanders. 

William  surveyed  the  plans  and  listened  to  the  explanations, 
in  which  the  Landgrave  and  M.  de  Lunenburgh  eagerly  joined, 
with  an  elated  satisfaction  which  even  the  stroke  about  to  be 
dealt  by  M.  D'Avaux  could  not  destroy.  His  spirits,  as  ever, 
rose  with  increasing  difficulties  and  dangers,  and  after  having  to 
listen  to  the  thousand,  to  him,  paltry  arguments  of  the  English 
party  leaders,  this  talk  of  the  real  heart  of  affairs,  the  hand-to- 
hand  grips  with  France,  had  a  ringing  pleasure  for  his  ears. 

M.  Fagel,  withdrawn  into  the  window  embrasure,  was  speak- 
ing with  William  Bentinck,  a  tall,  fair,  and  handsome  man,  of  a 
quiet  dignity,  a  few  years  older  than  the  Stadtholder,  and  that 
Prince's  closest  friend,  of  the  probable  effect  of  this  move 
planned  by  the  wit  and  watchfulness  of  M.  Skelton  and 
M.  D'Avaux,  when  an  usher  entered  to  inform  His  High- 
ness that  the  English  Ambassador  requested  an  immediate 
audience. 

William  was  roused  at  once  from  his  maps  and  papers,  and 
a  movement  of  excitement  silenced  the  low,  serious  voices. 

"M.  D'Albeville ! "  exclaimed  the  Stadtholder.  His  eyes 
flashed,  and  he  rose.  "  Conduct  him  here." 

As  the  usher  left,  all  looked  at  the  Prince. 

"  Why  should  he  come  ?  "  asked  M.  de  Lunenburgh. 

William  laid  his  hand  affectionately  on  the  German's  brown 
velvet  sleeve. 

"  My  child,"  he  said  softly,  "  whatever  he  hath  come  for,  we 
will  turn  him  to  our  own  uses." 

At  this  moment  the  English  Ambassador  entered,  amid  an 
absolute  silence;  he  paused  on  the  threshold  and  glanced  at 
the  men  before  him  :  the  Stadtholder  between  M.  de  Lunenburgh, 
the  Landgrave  and  the  Hanoverian  envoy  at  the  opposite  side 


THE  ENGLISH  AMBASSADOR  93 

of  the  dark  circular  walnut  table ;  the  Spaniard,  very  splendid 
in  gold  brocade  that  caught  the  sun,  standing  with  his  back  to 
the  hearth,  and  opposite  him  in  the  dazzling  length  of  the 
window  M.  Bentinck  with  the  two  Dutch  ministers. 

So  were  gathered  in  this  small,  plain  room  representatives  of  the 
most  of  the  members  of  the  huge  coalition  which  the  formidable 
Stadtholder  had  laboured  so  long  to  combine  against  France ; 
and  M.  D'Albeville,  standing  for  England,  equally  precious 
both  to  these  allies  and  to  Louis,  instinctively  drew  back  a 
little,  as  one  who  has  stepped  among  silent  enemies. 

He  was  a  slight  Irish  Catholic,  and  had  been  handsome,  but 
dissipation,  poverty,  and  meanness  had  given  him  a  haggard  and 
livid  appearance;  he  wore  gaudy,  but  tarnished,  finery,  and  a 
huge  red-brown  peruke  that  hung  in  knots  of  heavy  curls  either 
side  his  sharp  face. 

"  I  desired  a  private  audience,  Highness,"  he  said,  speaking 
in  perfect  French. 

"We  are  private  here,  M.  le  Marquis,"  answered  William, 
handing  the  packet  of  papers  back  to  M.  de  Hesse.  "  And  we 
are  glad  that  you  have  come,  for  we  had  business  to  discuss 
with  you." 

He  seated  himself  at  that,  and  M.  D'Albeville  came  to  the 
opposite  side  of  the  table,  so  directly  facing  him ;  the  others 
remained  standing. 

"You,"  said  William,  with  energy,  "have  been  trying  to  fool 
me,  M.  le  Marquis.  You  have  seen  fit  to  convey  warnings  to 
the  court  of  England  and  to  M.  D'Avaux." 

The  look  of  fear  that  was  never  quite  absent  from  the 
Irishman's  face  deepened;  he  seemed  to  shrink  into  his  stiff 
buckram  and  brocade  clothes. 

"  So  God  help  me "  he  began. 

"  Oh,  enough  of  your  oaths  ! "  cried  the  Prince,  in  a  sudden 
burst  of  fury.  "  Do  you  think  I  have  time  to  listen  to  your 
cursed  excuses?  How  much  have  you  told  that  damned 
Frenchman  ?  " 

So  direct,  terrible,  and  sincere  was  his  passion  that  the 
object  of  it  retreated  towards  the  door,  and  even  the  spectators 
were  awed. 

"  I  protest,"  answered  the  Ambassador,  dry-lipped,  "  I  have 


94  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

told  nothing.  I  have  sent  reassuring  messages  to  His  Majesty, 
as  Your  Highness  knoweth " 

"Were  you  not  well  enough  paid  for  them,"  demanded 
William  fiercely,  "that  you  must  go  cry  your  wares  in  the 
French  market?" 

"  Monseigneur,  you  are  misinformed " 

The  Prince  cut  him  short 

"  M.  D'Avaux  hath  been  told  of  M.  de  Sunderland's  part — 
you  told  him.  Hath  King  James  been  warned  also  ?  " 

"I  came  to  tell  Your  Highness  so,"  stammered  M. 
D'Albeville.  "Not  by  me,  God  knoweth;  but  I  had  this 
morning  a  message " 

"From  whom?" 

"Not  from  my  Lord  Sunderland — direct  from  His  Majesty 
bidding  me  ask  the  States  the  reason  of  the  preparations  of 
Your  Highness " 

The  Stadtholder  glanced  at  his  friends;  he  was  still  taut 
with  passion.  Dealing  with  mean  creatures  such  as  this  roused 
that  rare  fury  in  him  that  brought  him  out  of  himself. 

"  So  now  you  are  afraid,  eh  ? "  he  asked.  "  You  are  not 
quite  so  sure  which  is  the  winning  side,  M.  le  Marquis " 

M.  D'Albeville  came  nearer  the  table.  Another  fear  con- 
quered his  fear  of  the  terrible  Prince. 

"  I  cannot  go  on,"  he  said  feverishly.  "  I  dare  not.  I  can 
help  you  no  more,  Monsieur.  I  must  deliver  that  message,  and 
I  must  tell  the  King  everything " 

"You  will  deliver  the  message,"  interrupted  William  grimly; 
"  but  you  will  not  open  the  eyes  of  His  Majesty  until  I  bid  you." 

The  Irishman  clutched  his  hand  on  his  breast,  with  a  con- 
tortion of  terror  and  despair  on  his  face.  He  had  been  playing 
fast  and  loose  between  France  and  Holland  so  long  that  he 
scarcely  knew  how  far  he  had  betrayed  one  to  the  other,  only 
that  of  late  he  had  kept  the  greater  faith  with  the  Prince,  who 
terrorized  him,  as  did  all  the  English  envoys,  except  those  he 
won  by  friendship,  such  as  Temple  and  Sidney. 

M.  D'Albeville  was  now  convinced  that,  in  view  of  the 
coming  French  action,  the  Prince  could  not  succeed,  and  he 
wished  fervently  that  he  was  before  James  or  Louis  that  he 
might  gain  a  good  price  by  telling  what  he  knew  of  William's 


THE  ENGLISH   AMBASSADOR  95 

plans.  He  already  regretted  having  come  before  His  Highness, 
yet  he  had  not  dared  act  without  warning  him,  and  had  been 
in  some  hopes  of  persuading  him  of  his  own  faith  and  use. 

Disappointed  in  this,  he  groaned  aloud,  began  a  feeble  sentence 
that  died  on  his  lips,  and  cast  a  furtive  glance  for  a  way  of  escape. 

This  did  not  fail  of  notice  by  the  Prince. 

"  Bentinck,"  he  said,  "  look  to  the  door." 

That  nobleman  stepped  quietly  in  front  of  it,  and  the  wretched 
Ambassador  shrilled  a  protest. 

"  Doth  Your  Highness  intend  violence  ?  " 

"  I  intend  to  make  use  of  you,  Monsieur ! "  cried  the  Prince. 
"  We  are  men  in  earnest.  Do  you  think  that  we  should  allow 
you  to  in  any  way  incommode  us  ?  " 

"  It  will  be  Tower  Hill  for  me  ! "  cried  M.  D'Albeville.  "  I 
dare  keep  silent  no  longer — if  my  Lord  President  goeth,  what 
protection  have  I  got?" 

"M.  de  Sunderland  shall  not  go  until  I  have  sailed  from 
Helvoetsluys,"  said  William.  "How  much  hath  M.  D'Avaux 
promised  you  for  telling  everything  to  the  Court  of  St.  James  ?  " 

M.  D'Albeville  shrugged,  but  obviously  brightened  as  the 
talk  changed  to  money. 

"  You  are  quite  mistaken,  Your  Highness— — " 

"  How  much  was  it  ?  "  interrupted  William. 

"Naturally,  if  I  could  help  M.  D'Avaux — I  should  expect 
some  consideration  for  the  trouble " 

The  Prince  for  a  moment  took  his  great  eyes  from  the 
Irishman  and  addressed  a  rapid  sentence  in  Dutch  to  M.  Dyckfelt, 
who  at  once  went  to  the  Chinese  bureau  at  the  side  of  the 
fireplace  and  unlocked  a  drawer. 

"  I  must  deliver  the  message  to  the  States,"  said  M.  D'Albe- 
ville, between  cringing  and  defiance.  He  was  really  afraid  of  what 
might  have  happened  in  England — Sunderland  might  be  in 
disgrace,  and  the  whole  intrigue  discovered  by  James,  for  all 
he  knew. 

"  It  is  my  wish  that  you  should,"  answered  William.  "  It  will 
ccme  very  pat  with  M.  D'Avaux  his  message." 

M.  Dyckfelt  put  on  the  table  a  gold  standish,  a  sheet  of  paper, 
and  a  casket,  which  last  the  Prince  kept  before  himself. 

11  M.  le  Marquis,"  he  said,  "  you  will  do  me  one  more  service 


96  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

— you  will  write  to  His  Majesty  that  his  suspicions  are  quite 
unfounded,  that  my  preparations,  you  are  assured,  are  against 
Denmark,  and  that  no  credit  is  to  be  given  to  the  tales  of 
M.  Skelton  and  M.  D'Avaux  about  M.  de  Sunderland." 

The  Ambassador's  face  became  absolutely  blanched ;  he 
moistened  his  lips,  and  murmured,  "I  dare  not — I  dare  not," 
between  dry  breaths. 

"You  dare  not  refuse,"  answered  William.  "I  could  so 
expose  you  that  not  a  court  in  Europe  would  employ  you. 
Besides,  it  is  enough  that  I  command  you.  Sit  down  and  write." 

M.  D'Albeville  came  slowly  nearer  the  table. 

"  I  would  do  anything  to  serve  Your  Highness,  but  not  this — 
it  is  too  late — it  has  gone  too  far " 

"Write,"  said  the  Stadtholder  briefly.  "I  pay  well,  you 
know  that." 

M.  D'Albeville  sat  down  in  the  chair  opposite  the  paper  and 
standish. 

"  But  His  Majesty  will  learn  from  others,  and  I  shall  be 
recalled  and "...  he  complained  miserably  ..."  death  .  .  . 
treason  is  death.  Oh,  my  God,  I  cannot  do " 

"  M.  le  Marquis,"  interrupted  William,  "  His  Majesty  is 
simple  enough  to  trust  you,  and  for  the  rest  I  protect  those 
whom  I  use." 

M.  D'Albeville  shivered  and  took  up  the  pen.  He  had,  and 
knew  it,  no  chance  with  the  Prince,  whose  potent  personality 
always  completely  mastered  his.  He  dared  not,  from  some  sheer 
unnameable  fear,  refuse  or  resist,  but  the  damp  stood  on  his 
brow  and  his  heart  was  cramped  at  the  thought  of  the  possible 
vengeance  of  the  master  whom  he  was  betraying. 

"  You  know  what  to  write,"  said  William.  "  Put  it  in  your 
own  hand  and  your  own  style — you  do  not,  I  think,  use  cipher — 

Tears  of  terror,  rage,  and  mortification  stood  in  the  Irishman's 
eyes.  He  had  come  to  excuse  himself  from  a  service  that  had 
become  too  dangerous,  and  found  himself  overpowered  into 
going  still  greater  lengths.  He  could  not  bring  himself  to  write 
the  letter  which  would  eventually  cut  him  off  from  all  hope  of 
pardon  from  England. 

"  He  shall  write,"  said  the  Prince,  in  a  low  tone,  to  M.  de 
Hesse,  "  if  I  have  to  hold  a  pistol  to  his  head  the  while." 


THE  ENGLISH   AMBASSADOR  97 

And  he  came  softly  round  behind  the  Ambassador's  chair. 

"Gentlemen,"  complained  M.  D'Albeville,  "is  this  a  way 
to  treat  the  representative  of  His  Britannic  Majesty  ?  " 

The  Landgrave  and  M.  de  Lunenburgh  closed  nearer  round 
him. 

M.  D'Albeville  looked  up  at  the  grave  faces  bent  on  him, 
and  began  to  write. 

"Make  haste,"  said  the  Prince,  drawing  a  round  filigree 
watch  from  his  pocket  and  glancing  at  the  time. 

The  Ambassador  groaned  and  drove  his  pen  the  faster;  in  a 
few  moments  the  sheet  of  paper  was  covered,  sanded,  and  signed. 

"There  is  my  ruin,  Highness,"  said  M.  D'Albeville  dramati- 
cally, handing  it  with  shaking  fingers. 

"  Men  like  you  are  never  ruined,"  returned  the  Prince.  He 
glanced  over  the  letter,  ill  spelt,  ill  expressed,  but  all  that 
Sunderland  would  need  to  quiet  the  fears  of  his  master. 

The  Prince  folded  it  across,  and  M.  D'Albeville  held  out  his 
hand. 

"By  your  leave,  M.  le  Marquis,  I  will  post  this,"  William 
opened  the  casket  M.  Dyckfelt  had  brought  from  the  Chinese 
bureau,  and  took  out  a  couple  of  little  linen  bags,  which  he  slid 
along  the  table  towards  the  crumpled  figure  of  the  Ambassador ; 
the  glint  of  gold  could  be  seen  between  the  wide  meshes. 
"The  audience  is  over,"  he  added  dryly. 

M.  D'Albeville  got  to  his  feet  and  began  to  pick  up  the 
money  and  thrust  it  into  the  huge  flap  pockets  of  his  silver- 
branched  coat,  making  the  while  little  sounds  of  protest,  and 
shaking  his  head  dismally. 

"Listen,"  said  the  Prince  vigorously.  "You  will  give  your 
message  to  the  States  to-morrow,  and  you  will  send  no  letters 
of  any  kind  to  England  until  I  request  you  to " 

"  I  am  always  the  servant  of  Your  Highness,"  said  M.  D'Albe- 
ville with  a  dreary  submission,  yet  with  a  kind  of  satisfaction 
in  the  bribe  that  lay  heavy  in  his  pockets ;  the  Prince  always 
paid  better  than  M.  D'Avaux,  kept  short  by  M.  de  Louvois, 
who  disliked  him. 

"All  packets    leaving   our    ports   are   watched,"   remarked 
William.     "So   do   not   try   to    send  any   secret   messages   to 
England." 
7 


98  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

The  Ambassador  picked  up  his  white-plumed  hat,  that  had 
fallen  to  the  floor,  then  came  towards  the  Prince  with  a  humble 
gesture,  as  if  he  would  have  kissed  his  hand ;  but  William  drew 
back  with  a  haughty  disgust  that  brought  a  blush  even  to 
M.  D'Albeville's  brazen  cheek.  He  withdrew  backwards,  M. 
Bentinck  opened  the  door  for  him,  and  closed  it  after  he  had 
departed,  bowing. 

"  By  Heaven ! "  burst  out  the  Landgrave,  "  to  think  that 
a  great  nation  should  send  as  representative  such  a  rascal ! " 

"  His  Majesty  hath  always  been  unlucky,  Highness,"  answered 
William,  "in  the  gentlemen  he  sendeth  to  The  Hague.  To 
use  such  tools ! "  he  added  impatiently ;  "  but  I  think  we  have 
checkmated  M.  D'Avaux. — M.  Fagel,"  he  turned  swiftly  to  the 
Grand  Pensionary,  "you  see  your  part?  The  two  messages 
will  come  the  same  day,  and  you  are  to  protest  that  there  must 
be  some  secret  alliance  between  France  and  England  that  the 
States  have  been  kept  in  the  dark  about,  and  that  we  can  give 
no  answer  till  that  is  explained ;  you  must  feign  alarm  which 
will  further  inflame  the  people  against  France  and  her  designs, 
and  so  we  may  provoke  King  James  into  repudiating  the  French 
alliance  and  offending  His  Christian  Majesty." 

Having  thus  indicated  the  policy  that  his  genius  had  instantly 
conceived,  he  paused  with  a  little  cough,  then  laughed,  which 
he  seldom  did  save  when  he  had  discomfited  some  one.  He 
laughed  now,  thinking  of  M.  D'Avaux,  and  there  was  a  malicious 
note  in  it  which  would  not  have  pleased  that  diplomat  to  hear. 

The  German  princes  laughed  also,  in  a  more  good-natured 
fashion,  and  the  whole  company  moved  from  their  places  with 
a  sense  that  a  final  resolve  had  been  reached. 

"  Come,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Prince  in  his  tired  voice,  "  I 
think  we  have  earned  our  dinner." 

He  handed  to  M.  Fagel  the  letter  written  by  M.  D'Albeville. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THREE  PAWNS 

THREE  English  gentlemen  were  walking  slowly  round  the 
Vyverburg  on  the  side  where  stand  the  spacious  courts 
of  the  Buitenhof;  the  ground  beneath  their  feet  was  thickly 
covered  with  dry  yellow  leaves,  and  the  trees  above  their  heads 
almost  bare,  but  the  sun  shone  as  strong  as  summer  on  the 
placid  surface  of  the  water,  and  gleamed  with  a  red  fire  in  the 
rows  of  long  windows  of  the  Government  buildings ;  the  sky  was 
a  great  luminous  space  of  blue  gold,  against  which  the  trees  and 
houses  the  other  side  of  the  lake  showed  with  a  tender  clarity, 
like  the  pictures  of  that  great  artist,  Ver  Meer  of  Delft. 

There  were  swans  and  ducks  on  the  lake ;  they,  like  the 
water  on  which  they  swam,  were  touched  with  this  universal  hue 
of  gold,  and  seemed  to  be  cleaving  a  way  through  glimmering 
mists  of  sunshine. 

The  three  gentlemen  paused  by  one  of  the  posts  protecting 
the  edge  of  the  water ;  it  was  near  evening,  and  under  the  calm 
was  the  sense  of  a  little  rising  wind,  salt  from  the  sea.  Not  a 
word  was  spoken  between  these  three  who  had  fallen  from  much 
talk  to  idleness;  all  had  the  same  subject  in  their  minds, 
though  each  coloured  it  with  his  own  temperament ;  all  of  them 
were  remarkable-looking  men,  and  typical  of  some  aspect  of  the 
great  movement  of  which  they  formed  a  part. 

The  eldest  was  a  man  still  in  his  prime,  red-haired  and 
tanned  to  an  unnatural  darkness,  with  something  stern,  sad,  and 
passionate  in  his  face,  and  an  abruptness  in  his  movements ;  he 
wore  the  splendid  appointments  of  a  soldier;  across  his 
shoulder  was  twisted  a  rich  oriental  scarf  of  coloured  silk  and 
gold  threads ;  his  name  was  Fletcher  of  Saltoun,  a  noble  Scot, 

99 


ioo  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

who  had  returned  from  the  Turkish  war  to  assist  in  the  enter- 
prise of  the  Stadtholder. 

The  second  was  a  youth  of  singular  sweetness  of  expression 
and  delicacy  of  feature,  plainly  dressed  in  grey ;  the  charm  of  his 
appearance  was  marred  solely  by  a  black  silk  patch  which  he 
wore  over  his  left  eye;  he  was  staring  at  the  water  with  a 
melancholy  air,  and  now  and  then  sighed;  this  was  Charles 
Talbot,  eleventh  Earl  of  Shrewsbury,  dismissed  last  year  from 
the  army  and  the  Lord-Lieutenancy  of  Staffordshire  for  refusing 
to  abjure  his  religion ;  he  had  mortgaged  his  estates  for 
^40,000,  which  was  now  at  the  Bank  of  Amsterdam  at  the 
service  of  the  Prince.  He  was  for  the  moment  but  one  of  the 
many  refugees  at  The  Hague. 

The  third  was  by  far  the  most  remarkable,  and  bore  most 
signs  of  greatness :  young,  though  a  little  older  than  the  Earl,  he 
was  not,  perhaps,  half  the  height,  being  hunch-shouldered  to  a 
deformity,  and  thin  and  meagre  in  body;  his  face,  livid  and 
lined  with  disease,  wore  a  sparkling  expression  of  energy,  his 
eyes,  large,  noble,  and  ever  changing  in  expression  with  a  kind  of 
restless  animation,  scorn,  impatience,  and  dare-devilry ;  even 
now,  when  standing  still,  he  thrummed  with  his  fingers  on  the 
railing  and  whistled  '  Lillibulero '  under  his  breath. 

He  was  that  Lord  Mordaunt  whose  fiery,  careless  courage 
had  urged  this  expedition  on  the  Prince  a  year  ago. 

Fretting  under  the  languor  and  idleness  engendered  by  the 
beautiful  late  afternoon  and  the  serene  fair  prospect,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  lead  his  companions  out  of  the  silence  to  which  they 
were  so  obviously  inclined. 

"Where  will  the  Prince  land,  eh,  my  lord?"  he  asked  of 
Shrewsbury.  "  In  the  south-west  or  the  north-east  ?  " 

He  knew  that  my  lord  could  not  know  what  was  not  yet 
decided,  but  the  question  served  to  break  the  pause. 

"  Why,  'tis  even  what  they  argue  about,"  answered  the  Earl. 
"  Lord  Dunblaine  was  with  His  Highness  yesterday,  and  gave  as 
his  father'  advice  that  we  should  choose  the  north,  because 
'tis  so  easy  to  obtain  horses  in  Yorkshire " 

"Or  because  my  Lord  Danby,"  sneered  Mordaunt,  "hath 
such  a  pull  in  that  county  that  he  hopeth  to  get  His  Highness 
into  his  hands." 


THREE  PAWNS  101 

"  The  Prince  is  very  secret,"  said  Mr.  Fletcher. 

"  He  listeneth  to  all  and  agreeth  with  none,"  answered  my 
Lord  Mordaunt. 

"He  might  be  more  open,"  complained  the  Earl,  who  of 
the  three  was  most  in  the  favour  of  William ;  but  Mordaunt 
perhaps  understood  the  Prince  better. 

"Dr.  Burnet  is  to  draw  up  the  letter  to  the  Church," 
remarked  Mr.  Fletcher.  "  I  ever  disliked  him." 

"  He  is  translating  the  Prince  his  Declaration  also,"  said 
the  Earl  discontentedly.  "  I  do  hope  the  Prince  will  not  be  led 
by  such  an  extreme  Low  Churchman " 

"  M.  Fagel  wrote  it,"  answered  Mordaunt.  "  His  Highness 
said  the  English  were  all  such  party  men  he  would  not  trust 
them  to  prepare  it.  He  is  himself  writing  the  letter  to  the  army 
— you  have  heard  ?  He  is  clever  with  the  pen." 

"He  may,"  broke  out  Mr.  Fletcher,  "trust  Dr.  Burnet  as 
much  as  he  pleaseth ;  but  if  he  is  to  put  his  confidence  in  my 
Lord  Danby  we  are  as  good  as  lost " 

"Better  my  Lord  Danby  than  my  Lord  Sunderland," 
interrupted  Shrewsbury ;  "  it  surpriseth  me  that  he  can  deal  with 
such  a  knave." 

Lord  Mordaunt  gave  an  impatient  pirouette. 

"  Why  is  there  all  this  delay — delay  ?  "  he  cried.  "  /would 
have  sailed  months  ago  ! " 

Mr.  Fletcher  roused  at  that.  He  was  innocent  enough  in  the 
matter  of  politics  to  have  been  one  of  those  who  accompanied, 
with  hope  of  success,  Lord  Monmouth  on  his  fatal  expedi- 
tion, and  to  consider  the  Prince's  attempt  as  such  another 
enterprise. 

"  You  are  right,"  he  said  gloomily.  "  The  King  will  get  wind 
of  it,  and  Dartmouth  will  have  his  ships  spread  all  round  the 
coast  to  prevent  a  landing." 

"  I  am  sick  of  The  Hague — sick  !  "  exclaimed  Mordaunt  im- 
petuously. "  If  His  Highness  don't  leave  the  cursed  place  soon, 
I'll  go  without  him  ! " 

Shrewsbury  laughed,  then  Mordaunt  himself  good- 
humouredly;  Mr.  Fletcher  stared  at  the  slow-sailing  ducks. 
He  did  not  care  much  what  happened,  but  he  hated  inaction 
and  began  to  regret  the  Turks  who  had  provided  it. 


102  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"  You  have  heard  that  Skelton  hath  been  recalled  and  lodged 
in  the  Tower  ?  "  asked  Mordaunt. 

"Yes,"  said  Shrewsbury;  "it  was  in  the  letters  this 
morning.  It  might  have  been  expected  after  His  Majesty's 
denial  of  a  French  alliance  and  reprimand  to  M.  Barillon." 

"Sure  bad  policy,"  said  Mr.  Fletcher,  but  without 
enthusiasm,  "  and  a  good  stroke  for  the  Prince." 

In  truth  none  of  these  gentlemen  guessed  what  a  stroke. 
James  had  actually  stepped  into  the  trap  laid  for  him,  and,  seeing 
how  great  an  advantage  the  appearance  of  an  alliance  between 
him  and  France  gave  the  States,  had  angrily  repudiated  the 
suggestion,  and  haughtily  reprimanded  M.  Barillon  for  French 
interference  with  his  affairs.  Sunderland,  prepared  by  the  Prince, 
had  urged  him  on  to  this  course,  and  the  letters  of  M.  D'Albeville 
had  served  to  back  the  Lord-President's  reassurances.  The 
Prince  had  been  triumphant  in  this  encounter,  the  States  and 
the  people  were  warmer  in  his  cause  than  ever  after  this  proof, 
as  they  took  it,  of  a  connection,  between  France  and  England, 
dangerous  to  themselves.  M.  D'Avaux;  since  the  disgrace  of 
Skelton,  was  silent  with  mortification,  and  a  kind  of  lull  hung 
over  Europe ;  William  was  looking  with  a  terrible  anxiety 
towards  Flanders,  where  Louis  had  his  troops  threatening  the 
frontiers  of  the  Spanish  Lowlands,  and  so  the  United  Provinces. 
What  would  Louis  do  now  the  King  of  England  had  rejected  his 
warnings  and  refused  his  aid  ?  On  the  answer  to  that  question 
the  fate  of  Protestant  Europe  depended. 

But  these  three  knew  and  cared  little  of  these  matters; 
their  minds  were  set  wholly  on  the  domestic  policies  of 
England,  and  occupied  with  a  vague  ideal  of  liberty  for 
their  own  faith  and  their  country's  laws,  not  unmingled 
with  some  desire  for  vengeance  on  the  party  now  upper- 
most. 

"  I  saw  Sir  James  Stair  to-day,"  said  Mr.  Fletcher  suddenly ; 
"  he  hath  come  from  Leyden  to  join  the  Prince.  I  suppose  he 
will  take  to  himself  the  affairs  of  Scotland." 

"  Nay,"  answered  the  Earl ;  "  the  Prince  is  all  for  William 
Carstairs,  a  poor,  mean  Scottish  minister ;  but,  sir,  more  in  the 
Prince  his  confidence  than  any  of  us " 

"  Carstairs,"  cried  Mordaunt,  with  flashing  eyes,  "  hath  been 


THREE  PAWNS  103 

under  torture  with  secrets  of  M.  Fagel  in  his  keeping,  and  never 
betrayed  them.  A  brave  man  ! " 

Shrewsbury  shrugged  his  shoulders  delicately. 

"  I  wish  we  sailed  to-morrow,"  said  Fletcher  of  Saltoun. 

The  restless  Mordaunt  moved  on,  and  the  others  sauntered 
beside  him. 

"The  boats  are  all  creeping  down  to  the  sea  laden  with 
arms,"  he  said  excitedly.  "  They  lie  thick  as  pebbles  among  the 
reeds  of  the  islands  of  the  Rhine  and  Meuse.  Sirs,  ye  should 
see  them." 

"I  had  the  Prince  his  command  to  stay  at  The  Hague," 
answered  Shrewsbury.  "  Saw  you  these  boats  ?  " 

"That  I  did,  and  pontoons,  and  transports,  and  the  hay 
slung  in  ropes  in  the  ports,  and  the  great  trains  of  artillery  .  .  ." 

They  were  walking  towards  the  Gevangenpoort,  the  prison 
gate  which  rose  up  by  the  side  of  the  Vyver.  The  hazy  sky  was 
changing  to  a  tawny  colour  behind  the  dark  roof  lines  of  the 
houses,  flushed  here  and  there  with  gold  and  a  stain  of  purple ; 
little  pale,  shell-coloured  clouds  floated  away  to  the  uppermost 
heights  of  heaven  where  the  clear  blue  was  still  untouched,  and 
the  water  began  to  glow  and  burn  with  the  reflected  fires  of 
the  sky. 

The  clear  chimes  of  the  Groote  Kerk  struck  the  hour,  and 
the  sound  of  oncoming  horsemen  caused  the  few  passers-by  to 
pause  before  entering  the  narrow  way  of  the  prison  arch. 

A  cavalcade  came  into  sight  from  the  direction  of  the  Stad- 
huis,  and  moved  at  a  swift  trot  towards  the  Gevangenpoort — a 
number  of  gentlemen,  with  two  riding  before  the  others. 

As  they  passed  every  hat  was  removed. 

"  The  Prince  returning  from  Helvoet,"  said  Lord  Mordaunt, 
and  the  three  uncovered  as  the  horsemen  approached. 

The  Stadtholder  was  mounted  on  a  huge  grey  Flemish  horse, 
and  on  his  right  hand  rode  the  Marechal  de  Schomberg,  still 
erect  and  magnificent ;  the  two  were  talking  with  a  certain  stiff 
courtesy ;  behind  them  came  the  Spanish  envoy,  M.  Zuylestein, 
M.  Zolms,  and  M.  Auverquerque,  together  with  a  number  of 
Dutch  and  German  nobles. 

The  Prince  saw  the  three  Englishmen  and  saluted  very 
graciously ;  the  setting  sun  was  for  a  moment  full  on  his  grave 


104  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

face,  then  he  passed  through  the  prison  arch,  and  the  company 
clattered  over  the  cobbles  out  of  sight. 

"  No  Englishman  with  him,  mark  you,"  said  Mr.  Fletcher. 
"  Mr.  Herbert  told  me  that  he  could  not  be  open  with  us," 
replied  Shrewsbury. 

"  Yet  Herbert  is  to  have  the  command  of  the  expedition,  is 
he  not?" 

"  They  say  so ;  but  he  is  full  of  discontent.  Admiral  Evertzen 
hath  spoken  against  him  to  the  Prince,  methinks." 

Mr.  Fletcher  saluted  one  of  his  countrymen  whom  he  had 
recognized,  and  the  three  turned  back. 

A  steady  dusk  was  descending,  extinguishing  the  colours  in 
the  sky,  in  the  water,  in  the  windows  of  the  Binnenhof,  and 
blurring  those  in  the  dresses  of  the  people  passing  to  and  fro ; 
only  the  trees  and  the  houses  retained  their  distinctness  and 
sharpness  of  outline,  and  they  took  on  a  marvellous  colour  of 
living  silver  grey.  Long  deep  shadows  blended  with  the  water 
the  beautiful  irregular  buildings  that  had  been  the  theatre  of  so 
many  great  events ;  the  swans  stood  out,  a  dead  white,  from  hues 
rapidly  darkening  and  mysterious ;  their  feathers  were  ruffled  by 
a  long  breeze  that  swept  chilly  from  the  sea  and  salt  dunes  at 
Scheveningen. 

A  yellow  light  sprang  up  in  one  of  the  lower  windows 
of  the  Binnenhof,  and  cast  reflections  far  beneath  it  in  the 
water. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  the  story  of  John  de  Witt,  the  late 
Grand  Pensionary  ? "  asked  Shrewsbury,  pulling  his  cloak  about 
him.  "  M.  Bentinck  told  me,  and  kept  me  out  of  bed  with  the 

tale " 

"Why  should  you  think  of  that  now?"  asked  Mordaunt 
curiously. 

"  You  see  that  light  there — the  first  to  be  lit  in  the  Binnen- 
hof?— that  was  his  room,  and  M.  Bentinck  said  that  always  when 
one  passed  late  one  would  see  that  candle  shine  and  know  that 
M.  de  Witt  was  still  waking." 

"He  got  a  poor  reward,"  said  Mr.  Fletcher.  "He  was  torn 
to  bits  on  the  Plaats,  was  he  not  ?  " 

"  Anyone  whose  memory  goeth  back  sixteen  years  will  give 
you  an  account  of  it,"  answered  my  Lord  Mordaunt  dryly.  "  I 


THREE  PAWNS  105 

wish  I  had  been  beside  M.  de  Witt  that  day  with  a  sword  in  my 
hand ! " 

The  Earl  sighed 

"  How  cold  it  bloweth  !  A  severe  winter  is  presaged,  do  you 
not  think,  my  lord  ?  "  he  said.  Then  abruptly :  "  Why  should 
good  men  meet  such  ends  ?  " 

Lord  Mordaunt  laughed. 

"  You  ask  me  to  explain  ingratitude  ?  By  Heaven,  I  have 
not  the  wit  for  the  task." 

"  Ingratitude ! "  frowned  Shrewsbury ;  "  yet  these  people  love 
the  Prince  because  he  hath  done  them  great  services " 

"  But  shall  we  ?  "  interrupted  Mordaunt.  "  Ah,  sir,  I  think 
the  Prince  will  meet  the  same  spirit  as  did  John  de  Witt,  should 
he  ever  rule  in  England " 

"  Why,  God  forbid  ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Fletcher. 

"What?"  demanded  Mordaunt  sharply — "that  we  should 
ever  be  ungrateful  ?  " 

"No;  that  His  Highness  should  ever  rule  in  Britain." 

Lord  Mordaunt  answered  with  some  intensity — 

"  Are  you  so  simple,  sir,  as  to  think  we  can  have  a  man  like 
that  among  us  not  ruling  us  ?  " 

Lord  Shrewsbury  was  doubtfully  silent.  His  timorous  nature 
had  been  startled  by  the  sudden  action  into  which  circumstances 
had  spurred  it.  A  sense  of  loyalty,  a  terror  of  underhand  methods, 
a  dread  of  anything  so  violent  as  a  revolution  made  him  already 
secretly  regret  the  part  he  had  so  far  played  so  well. 

Mr.  Fletcher  answered  carelessly  and  thoughtlessly — 

"  You  set  too  high  a  value  on  the  little  Prince.  His  life  is 
not  worth  a  year's  purchase." 

Lord  Mordaunt  flashed  an  extraordinary  look  over  the  fine 
person  of  the  speaker,  and  the  comely  youth  of  the  Earl.  His 
thin  hand  clutched  on  to  his  sword-belt,  and  his  haggard  face 
flushed. 

"  You  set  too  high  a  value  on  bone  and  muscle  ! "  he  cried, 
with  a  passionate  sneer.  "  You  are  jolly  fellows,  both  of  you ; 
but  who  will  remember  you  when  you  have  been  dead  a  year  ? 
But  men,"  he  added  with  a  terrible  energy,  "will  talk  of  the 
Prince  of  Orange,  and  of  me." 

They  stared  at  him,  amazed  at  this  outburst,  and  Shrewsbury, 


106  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

seeing  what  a  frail,  deformed  creature  he  was,  blushed  with  a  kind 
of  shame. 

"  Good  God ! "  said  Mr.  Fletcher,  "  I  am  not  working  for 
fame,  my  lord." 

"  No  ! "  flashed  Lord  Mordaunt ;  "  creatures  of  clay — of  clay  ! 
Prettily  coloured,  but  a  breath  of  the  fire  that  burneth  in  the 
little  plain  vessels  would  crack  you  in  a  day." 

He  gave  a  flourishing  bow,  and  walked  off  towards  the 
Stadhuis. 

"  An  Eccentric,"  remarked  Mr.  Fletcher,  looking  after  him. 

"  I  fear  so.  He  will  put  himself  into  a  passion  at  a  word ;  but 
he  would  pledge  his  whole  fortune  for  you  if  you  were  in  need 
of  it,"  answered  the  Earl.  "  How  suddenly  dark  it  is ;  let  us, 
sir,  go  home." 


CHAPTER   XII 
FRANCE  MOVES  AGAIN 

IT  was  mid-October ;  the  Prince's  preparations  were  complete, 
even  to  the  putting  of  the  horses  on  board,  and  yet  there 
was  silence  from  France.  A  terrible  lull  of  suspense  hushed  the 
United  Provinces,  and  of  all  the  anxious  hearts  there  was  none 
so  anxious  as  that  of  the  man  who  had  staked  this  great  wager 
—the  Stadtholder. 

On  this  day,  the  nineteenth  of  the  month,  he  returned  from 
the  camp  at  Nymwegen,  where  he  had  been  reviewing  the  troops 
long  since  secretly  raised  and  drilled  by  him,  and  now  sanctioned 
by  the  States,  entered  The  Hague  privately,  and  rode  to  the 
Binnenhof,  where  he  was  closeted  with  M.  Fagel,  who  gave 
him  the  last  assurances  that  all  opposition,  even  from  the 
Republican  or  Loeve  Stein  party,  was  extinct. 

When  he  left  the  Grand  Pensionary  and  came  out  into 
the  still  corridors  of  the  Binnenhof,  he  stood  thoughtfully  for 
a  moment,  at  the  head  of  the  staircase,  thinking  of  the  various 
threads,  all  so  different  in  texture,  that  he  had  almost  succeeded 
in  weaving  into  the  completed  pattern  of  his  design. 

His  own  country,  the  German  princes,  the  Empire,  Spain, 
Sweden,  England,  the  Pope — all  combined  at  last  with  one  aim, 
to  answer  the  aggressions  of  France. 

For  ten  years,  ever  since  the  Peace  of  Nymwegen  had  been 
forced  on  him,  he  had  been  working  through  gloom,  dis- 
appointment, discouragement,  for  this  end.  His  answer  to  the 
revocation  of  the  Nantz  Edict  and  the  seizure  of  Orange  had  been 
the  League  of  Augsburg,  which  was  now  bearing  fruit,  and  all 
Europe  was  directed  against  France. 

Toil,  energy,  courage,  patience,  and  genius  were  telling. 
The  young  disinherited  Prince,  who  had  been  treated  as  a  mere 


io8  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

pawn  by  Charles  and  Louis,  the  general  of  twenty-two  with 
a  miserable  army,  who  had  been  offered  humiliating  terms  by 
the  insolently  victorious  French,  had  slowly  grown  to  be  a 
power  that  both  Bourbon  and  Stewart  feared,  and  whose  in- 
fluence was  predominant  over  the  larger  half  of  the  Continent. 

His  rapid  thoughts  went  back  over  the  years  to  those  black 
days  of  blood  and  despair  when  he  had  been  put  at  the  head 
of  his  country's  fortunes  and  trusted  with  her  sole  hopes.  Defeat 
— disappointment  had  often  been  his  in  his  struggle  to  maintain 
the  position  of  the  States  in  Europe,  but  even  to  his  own  judgment, 
and  he  ranked  his  own  achievements  low,  it  seemed  that  success 
had  waited  on  all  his  apparent  failures,  for  his  country  was  not 
only  free  but  great,  and  he  not  only  independent  but  powerful. 

Slowly  he  began  to  descend  the  stairs,  which  were  full  of 
a  misty  sunlight.  When  he  reached  the  first  landing-place  a 
man  stepped  from  one  of  the  tall  doors,  and,  seeing  the  Prince, 
bowed  and  stood  very  respectfully  waiting  for  him  to  pass. 

William  paused,  came  to  a  stop,  and  regarded  this  man 
with  a  close,  keen  scrutiny. 

He  stood  so  still  that  the  object  of  his  gaze  lifted  surprised 
eyes,  and  the  two  looked  at  each  other. 

The  Prince  stood  at  the  bottom  of  the  flight  of  stairs,  one 
hand  resting  on  the  polished  newel  post.  He  was  in  buff  military 
attire  and  carried  over  his  right  arm  a  heavy  dark  cloak ;  he  wore 
a  black  beaver  that  shaded  his  brow,  but  the  rich  light  was  full 
on  his  face,  which  expressed  a  strong  emotion  sternly  contained. 

Behind  him  a  blue  and  green  tapestry  hung  on  the  dark 
wall ;  it  showed  a  sea  fight  with  curious  ships  and  curling  waves, 
and  banners  rising  through  smoke;  the  sun  showed  every 
thread  in  it — every  crease,  and  the  latent  gold  in  the  heavy 
chestnut  locks  of  the  Prince. 

"  M.  Heinsius,"  he  said  softly. 

"Your  Highness?" 

The  Prince  did  not  change  his  position  nor  move  his 
brilliant  gaze. 

"I  think  to  leave  the  States  very  soon,  as  you  know, 
Mynheer ;  you  know  also  under  what  circumstances."  He  paused 
a  second,  then  added :  "  I  have  your  good  wishes,  Mynheer  ?  " 

Antoon  Heinsius  coloured  from  chin  to  brow.     He  had  been 


FRANCE  MOVES  AGAIN  109 

of  the  Loeve  Stein  party  and  in  favour  of  France,  but  his 
policy  had  changed  lately  to  an  adherence  to  the  Stadtholder ; 
he  had  not  expected  this  to  be  remarked  by  William. 

"  Every  true  heart  in  Holland,"  he  answered  strongly,  "  must 
pray  for  the  success  of  Your  Highness." 

William  descended  to  the  landing-place  and  laid  his  frail 
hand,  half  concealed  in  embroidered  linen  ruffles,  on  the  sleeve 
of  M.  Heinsius. 

"You  are  the  kind  of  man  I  want.  M.  Fagel  is  old  and 
in  failing  health — he  needeth  help,"  he  said.  "You  are  a 
patriot ;  you  would,  I  think,  do  anything  for  the  States." 

The  words  were  poor  compared  to  the  fire  and  energy  in 
the  Stadtholder's  strained  but  steady  voice,  and  the  purpose 
in  the  gentle  firm  touch  of  his  hand  on  the  other  man's  arm. 

M.  Antoon  Heinsius  answered  instantly,  with  a  deepening 
of  the  colour  in  his  fine  handsome  face — 

"Your  Highness  doth  me  exceeding  honour." 

"I  am  never  better  pleased,"  said  William,  "than  when  I 
can  make  a  man  like  you  my  friend." 

"Your  friend — your  servant,  Highness,"  murmured  M. 
Heinsius.  He  was  considerably  moved  by  this  kindness  from 
one  usually  so  stately  and  reserved,  and  one  whom  he  had 
of  late,  as  he  understood  his  policy  better,  warmly  admired. 

"You  know  my  aims,  my  plans  of  government,"  continued 
the  Stadtholder ;  "  you  will  know  what  to  do  in  my  absence, — 
by  serving  Holland  you  serve  more  than  Holland." 

M.  Heinsius  answered  earnestly — 

"  Before  God  I  will  do  my  best." 

"  Your  best  is  well  worth  having,  Mynheer.  I  have  noticed 
your  career." 

The  two  men,  but  a  little  time  since  in  opposition,  looked 
with  complete  understanding  into  each  other's  eyes.  The  Prince 
had  won  the  fine  loyalty  of  M.  Heinsius  as  he  won  all  whom 
he  set  himself  to  gain,  as  he  won  ultimately,  indeed,  all  those 
who  served  him  and  came  to  know  him  intimately. 

"The  States  have  acted  to  the  wishes  of  Your  Highness?" 
asked  M.  Heinsius. 

"  The  States  have  trusted  me,"  answered  the  Prince.  "  Even 
the  Loeve  Stein  faction  are  eager  for  me  to  depart  on  this 


no  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

expedition,  in  the  hopes,  maybe" — he  smiled — "that  I  shall 
be  slain  or  affronted.  But  I  have  anxieties." 

He  paused  and  looked  at  the  water  of  the  Vyver  that  lay 
glinting  with  autumn  gold  beneath  the  window. 

"  Mynheer,"  he  added,  "  a  country  is  a  high  stake — one's  own 
country.  Mynheer,"  he  looked  again  into  the  face  of  the  older  man, 
"you  have  perhaps  thought  there  was  some  wantonness  in  this 
my  resolve,  you  have  thought  that  I  may  have  dared  too  much  in 
offering  to  take  beyond  seas  all  the  defences  of  the  States." 

"  Never ! "  answered  M.  Heinsius  firmly.  "  I  understand  and 
I  applaud  the  policy  of  Your  Highness." 

"It  is,"  said  the  Stadtholder,  "on  a  sure  bottom  and  to 
be  justified.  Yet,  until  I  know  what  France  doth,  I  am  no 
better  than  a  man  on  the  rack." 

"You  think — even  now?" 

"  Even  now — if  they  were  to  fall  on  the  frontier !  Nought 
there  but  the  Spaniards  !  But  a  little  while  will  show  us." 

He  paused  again,  then  said,  weighing  his  words,  and  with 
a  strange  mingling  of  simplicity  and  dignity. 

"  I  am  no  King  in  this  country,  Mynheer,  but  the  servant 
of  the  Republic,  and  you,  who  are  a  knowing  man  and  one 
who  hath  the  common  welfare  at  heart,  I  would  have  hold 
me  justified  in  this  I  do.  I  have  been  believed  ambitious, 
but  my  ambition  is  one  with  the  good  of  the  States,  and  God 
knoweth  that  I  do  not  take  this  tremendous  risk  from  any 
such  paltry  motive,  but  because  it  is  our  chance,  which  if  we 
do  not  take  we  are  as  good  as  lost." 

"  It  is  no  flattery  to  say  that  I  agree  with  Your  Highness, 
who  seeth  farther  and  more  clearly  than  most  men." 

"  You  will  hear  them,"  answered  William,  "  talk  of  England, 
and  what  I  do  to  gain  England,  and  how  much  store  I  set 
by  that  country.  Be  not  deceived ;  England  is  but  a  counter 
in  the  game  I  play,  and,  if  I  succeed,  will  be  but  one  of  many 
allies  which  we  will  lead  against  France.  And  always  with  me, 
Mynheer  Heinsius,  it  is  the  Republic — always." 

He  spoke  with  intensity  and  emotion  that  were  the  more 
moving  in  contrast  to  his  usual  sternness. 

"The  deeds  of  Your  Highness  have  proved  your  words," 
answered  Antoon  Heinsius  in  an  unsteady  voice. 


FRANCE  MOVES  AGAIN  in 

The  Stadtholder  sighed. 

"  I  will  not  disguise  from  you  that  my  sufferings  are  terrible 
— my  disquietude  almost  unbearable,  for  it  is  the  Republic 
at  stake,"  he  said. 

He  gave  his  hand  to  M.  Heinsius,  who  kissed  it  very  lowly, 
and  left  the  Binnenhof. 

He  had  not  so  much  as  a  footboy  in  attendance,  and  rode 
rapidly  to  the  'huis  ten  bosch'  with  little  regard  for  the 
salutes  and  respectful  homage  of  those  he  passed.  His  contem- 
plated enterprise,  the  very  daring  of  which,  owing  to  his  usual 
caution,  was  the  more  awe-inspiring,  made  him  even  more 
than  ever  an  object  of  admiration  and  attention  at  The  Hague. 

Once  within  the  bounds  of  his  own  woods  he  was  enwrapped 
in  the  gracious  loveliness  of  the  trees — the  quiet  of  the  frost- 
bound  earth,  and  had  almost  reached  the  house  before  he  met 
anyone ;  then,  round  the  turn  of  the  long  main  avenue  came  a 
lady,  very  gracefully  riding  a  white  horse. 

The  Prince  gave  her  a  quick  glance,  touched  his  beaver,  and 
was  passing  with  no  slacking  of  his  pace,  but  she  drew  rein  and 
said  in  a  faint  voice — 

"Your  Highness "  with  a  little  gesture  that  seemed  to 

entreat  him  to  stay. 

He  turned  his  horse  instantly. 

"  I  am  leaving  The  Hague,  sir,"  she  said,  speaking  English, 
which  was  obviously  her  native  tongue.  "  I  have  the  permission 
of  Her  Highness  to  go  see  my  sister  who  is  sadly  worse." 

She  was  young,  very  slender,  and  carried  herself  with  a 
certain  air  of  fire  and  pride,  a  certain  poise  of  dignity  and 
animation  charming  to  behold ;  her  features  were  ordinary,  but 
vivacious  and  intelligent ;  there  was  a  certain  set  or  cast  in  her 
brown  eyes  not  unattractive,  and  her  hair,  in  a  hundred  gleaming 
hues  of  gold,  red,  and  deep  honey  colour,  hung  in  thick  curls 
on  to  her  riding  coat,  cut  like  a  man's  and  thickly  embroidered 
with  gold. 

"  Madame  Bentinck  is  worse  ?  "  repeated  William  in  a  quick 
distress. 

"  They  did  say  so.     I  felt  I  should  go." 

"I  am  grieved  a  thousand  times,"  he  added,  "and  for 
M.  Bentinck "  —  he  spoke  with  real  feeling,  but  with  that 


H2  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

touch  of  constraint  (unlike  his  usual  reserve)  which  marked  her 
manner  to  him — "and  for  you,  Madame." 

Miss  Villiers  hesitated  a  second,  then  said  abruptly — 

"  I  did  not  think  to  meet  you.  I  shall  not  see  you  again 
before  you  sail.  Take  my  poor  wishes  with  you." 

"  I  have  been  so  bold  as  to  feel  sure  of  them,"  he  answered 
gravely.  She  was  silent,  but  he  did  not  ride  on,  but  sat  with  slack 
reins  looking  at  her,  half  in  the  thick  autumn  sunlight,  half  in 
the  shade  of  the  close  tree  trunks,  for  the  sun  was  sinking. 

They  had  not  spoken  to  each  other  alone  for  years ;  but  when 
she  had  first  come  to  The  Hague  with  his  wife  there  had  been  a 
swift  attraction  between  them,  which,  for  all  her  discretion  and 
his  reserve,  had  not  failed  to  be  seized  upon  by  the  English  agents 
to  work  discords  in  the  Court  of  The  Hague.  It  was  not  so 
long  ago  that  the  Princess's  Chaplain,  Dr.  Covell,  and  Miss 
Trelawney,  had  been  dismissed  by  Mary  for  inventing  and 
spreading  this  kind  of  gossip  for  the  benefit  of  those  spies  of  the 
English  Court  who  were  ever  endeavouring  to  estrange  the 
Prince  from  his  wife. 

The  Stadtholder  was  sensitive  to  these  malicious  scandals. 
He  rather  avoided  Miss  Villiers,  who,  on  her  part,  was  utterly 
indifferent  to  report  and,  secure  in  the  position  the  marriage  of 
her  sister  to  M.  Bentinck  gave  her,  troubled  herself  not  in  the 
least  either  about  Mary's  gentle  dislike  or  her  own  unpopularity 
in  The  Hague.  She  had  great  gifts — wit  and  courage  and  under- 
standing, enthusiasm  and  self-control ;  she  was  very  reserved,  no 
one  knew  her  well,  not  the  Prince  now,  though  once  he  had  had 
her  inspiring  friendship,  her  brilliant  advice,  her  ardent  attention ; 
she  was  still  of  service  to  him,  but  always  through  the  medium  of 
her  sister  and  M.  Bentinck.  It  was  strange  to  both  of  them  to 
come  face  to  face  like  this  in  those  woods  in  which,  near 
ten  years  ago,  they  had  walked  together,  and  he  had  told  her 
of  his  hopes  and  fears  previous,  and  just  after  the  Peace  of 
Nymwegen. 

He  smiled  and  she  frowned ;  each  wondered  how  much  that 
friendship  had  been  worth  to  the  other ;  Miss  Villiers  thought 
that  she  had  long  been  balanced  with  his  wife  in  his  affections ; 
he,  that  she  had  never  considered  him  as  more  than  the  em- 
bodiment of  a  policy  that  she  admired — both  were  wrong. 


FRANCE  MOVES  AGAIN  113 

"Tell  me,"  she  said  suddenly,  "are  you  still  in  fears  of  the 
French  ?  " 

"  The  greatest  fears.  Until  I  know  how  they  are  going  to 
move  I  consider  the  whole  plan  in  jeopardy.  If  they  should 
march  on  the  frontiers " 

"  God  forbid  ! "  she  exclaimed  fervently.  "  When  will  you 
know?" 

"  I  am  utterly  in  the  dark." 

"I  shall  not  sleep  until  you  have  safely  sailed,"  she  said. 
"  For  what  is  to  become  of  England  if  this  faileth  ?  " 

"  It  must  not  fail,"  he  answered  quietly. 

Miss  Villiers  looked  at  him  strangely. 

" No,"  she  remarked ;  "I  do  not  think  you  will  fail — in 
the  end." 

She  lowered  her  eyes,  patted  the  strong  arched  neck  of  her 
horse,  and  added — 

"  I  have  seen  my  Lord  Shrewsbury  and  my  Lord  Manchester, 
and  laboured  to  strengthen  them  in  your  cause."  She  smiled. 
"  They  are  discontented  already." 

"  Does  it  matter  ?  "  asked  William. 

"A  vast  deal.  You  must,  sir,  try  to  please  the  English 
more ;  they  do  not  love  you." 

"  Then  I  cannot  make  them." 

She  raised  her  eyes  again. 

"Perhaps  you  do  not  quite  understand  us — the  English — 
though  you  have  known  a  many  by  now " 

"  I  do  not  even  understand  you,  Madam,"  he  answered,  "save 
that  you  have  done  great  services  to  the  cause  I  stand  for,  and  for 
that,"  he  added  earnestly,  "  you  must  not  think  me  ungrateful. 
Some  day  I  may  be  able  to  share  prosperity  with  my  friends." 

He  said  the  last  sentence  with  a  warmth  yet  a  simplicity 
wholly  charming.  Miss  Villiers  paled  and  averted  her  eyes. 

"What  use  is  my  advice!"  she  exclaimed  bitterly.  "What 
use  am  I ! " 

He  looked  in  surprise  at  this  sudden  alteration  in  her  even 
demeanour. 

"It  hath  been  of  use  to  us,"  he  said  gravely.  "And  what 
you  say  now  is  just,  and  I  will  remember  it " 

Miss  Villiers  suddenly  laughed. 
8 


H4  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"Yes;  you  must  be  very  civil,  sir,  to  the  English,  and — you 
must  never  trust  them  ! " 

She  touched  up  her  horse. 

"  Sure,  I  will  not  detain  Your  Highness " 

He  took  off  his  hat. 

"  I  have  writ  to  M.  Bentinck,"  he  said  earnestly ;  "  but  tell 
him  yourself  what  a  great  concern  I  am  under  as  to  your  sister 
her  health — and  that  he  must  send  a  messenger  with  news." 

Elizabeth  Villiers  bent  her  head,  smiled  rather  sadly,  and 
they  parted ;  he  towards  the  house  at  the  end  of  the  long 
avenue,  and  she  through  gold-red  glittering  woods  into  the  hazy 
autumn  distance. 

When  he  reached  the  steps  of  his  villa  he  saw  another  woman 
awaiting  him — the  Princess,  standing  in  the  full  last  light,  with  a 
light  cloak  about  her.  As  soon  as  she  beheld  his  approach  she 
came  forward,  and  was  at  his  stirrup  before  he  had  dismounted. 

"  There  is  a  galloper  from  Flanders  with  news,"  she  said  ; 
her  voice  was  strained,  and  she  clasped  her  hands  tightly  together 
to  steady  them. 

A  broken  exclamation  escaped  the  Prince. 

"  If  the  French  are  marching  on  the  frontiers  I  cannot  go  ! " 

The  grooms  came  forward  and  took  his  great  horse;  he 
sprang  from  the  saddle  and  went  with  the  Princess  up  the 
shallow  sun-flooded  steps. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  ! "  cried  Mary  under  her  breath,  "  if  there  are 
ill  advices " 

He  pressed  her  hand  fiercely. 

"  I  cannot  leave  the  country  if  they  are  invading  Flanders " 

In  the  simple  vestibule  was  the  impatient  messenger — a  young 
Spanish  officer,  who  went,  very  courtly,  on  one  knee  when  the 
Prince  entered,  and  handed  a  packet  from  M.  de  Castagnana. 

"  News  of  the  French  ?  "  demanded  William  swiftly. 

11 1  do  believe  so,  Highness." 

The  Stadtholder  broke  open  the  dispatch,  glanced  down  the 
close  lines  of  Spanish,  and  turned  instantly  to  his  pale  wife,  whose 
eyes  were  fixed  on  him  with  a  piteous  intensity. 

"  The  French  have  abandoned  Flanders  ! "  he  cried ;  "  their 
troops  are  pouring  into  Germany — the  States  are  safe,  thank 
God!  thank  God " 


CHAPTER   XIII 
THE   GREAT  ENTERPRISE 

ALL  difficulties  were  overcome.  Louis,  angry  at  the  English 
King's  rejection  of  his  advices,  and  perhaps  hoping  that 
his  great  enemy  would  run  on  disaster  in  his  audacious  under- 
taking, or  perhaps  believing  that  it  was  now  too  late  in  the  year 
for  any  such  expedition,  had  suddenly  diverted  his  troops  into 
Germany,  where  in  a  few  days  he  had  taken  every  fort  along 
the  Rhine ;  successes  celebrated  with  great  pomp  in  Paris,  but 
worthless  indeed  to  Louis  should  William  accomplish  what  he 
was  now  free  to  attempt,  and  bring  England  out  of  her  shackles 
into  the  alliance  against  France. 

The  Prince's  preparations  were  complete ;  his  Declaration 
had  been  published  and  circulated  in  England  by  the  arts  of  his 
friends,  his  ships  and  troops  were  ready,  even  to  the  embarking 
of  the  soldiery,  and  he  himself  had  to-day  taken  his  farewell 
audience  of  the  States;  for  now  the  south-west  wind  had 
changed,  and  the  great  fleet  gathered  at  Goree  was  free  to  sail. 

Mary,  in  the  chilly  autumn  garden  of  the  c  huis  ten  bosch,' 
waited  his  return.  Four  times  a  day  she  went  to  public  prayers, 
but  not  all  her  ardent  faith  could  quell  the  tumult  in  her  soul ; 
her  anxieties  were  not  to  be  repressed,  even  at  the  communion 
table,  which  added  to  her  distress,  her  self-reproach,  her  un- 
easiness. 

She  walked  with  a  quick  step  up  and  down  the  bare  alleys, 
the  hard  gravel  paths,  between  the  newly-turned  flower-beds, 
the  late  yellowing  plants,  and  stiff  evergreens. 

The  violet  St.  Michael's  daisies  were  brown  and  withered  on 
their  stems,  the  last  roses  had  fallen,  and  the  carp  been  removed 
from  the  fish  basin,  where  the  water  lay  frost-bound  under  a 
thin  covering  of  ice ;  there  was  no  sun  to  cast  a  shadow  from 

"5 


n6  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

the  finger  of  the  grey  sundial,  and  the  sky  was  obscured  with 
low,  floating,  changing  clouds ;  a  little  wind  brought  the  salt  pure 
air  from  the  sea-coast  and  stirred  Mary's  bright  locks  inside  her 
miniver  hood. 

As  she  was  pacing  her  most  familiar  and  beloved  walk,  the 
little  alley  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  sheltered  by  interlacing 
trees  now  bare,  the  sound  of  a  footstep  brought  her  to  turn  with 
a  glad  expectancy. 

But  it  was  not  the  Prince,  only  M.  Auverquerque,  a  noble 
who  had  long  been  his  friend,  and  who  had  saved  his  life  amid 
the  bloody  steppes  of  St.  Denis,  and  for  this  reason  always  high 
in  Mary's  regard. 

"Do  you  come  from  the  States,  sir?"  she  asked  wistfully, 
speaking  in  English,  for  her  Dutch  was  still  very  indifferent,  and 
she  was  shy  of  using  it  save  on  a  necessity. 

"  Yes,  Madame,  and  I  left  His  Highness  conversing  with  M. 
Fagel  and  M.  Heinsius." 

The  Princess  stood  still.  Her  loose  velvet  coat,  of  a  bright 
blue  colour,  served  to  accentuate  the  pallor  of  her  face,  which 
was  worn  and  strained  in  expression ;  her  eyes  were  reddened 
with  recent  weeping,  and  narrowed  with  a  look  of  trouble. 

"  There  was  no  opposition  to  him — now,  I  think,"  she  said, 
with  a  sudden  smile. 

"  Madame — none  ;  there  was  great  enthusiasm  and  great 
grief  at  the  going  of  His  Highness,"  answered' M.  Auverquerque 
warmly  "  He  alone  was  unmoved — I  would  you  could  have  heard 
his  words,  Madame — 'I  have  had  no  thought,'  he  said,  '  since  I  did 
undertake  this  position  I  hold,  save  for  the  good  of  the  States, 
and  I  do  take  God  to  witness  that,  if  I  have  erred,  it  hath  been 
because  I  am  human,  and  not  through  lack  of  affection  for,  or 
care  of,  this  country.  Now,  going  to  make  the  endeavour  to  be 
of  service  to  our  common  faith,  I  do  commend  to  your  care  and 
guardianship  all  that  I  hold  dear — these  States  and  my  wife ' — 
and  at  this  they  were  stirred  to  tears,  Madame,  for  there  was  not 
one  who  could  not  remember  what  he  had  brought  them 
through." 

Mary  was  silent;  she  pressed  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips 
and  looked  towards  the  house.  M.  Auverquerque  regarded 
her  tenderly. 


THE  GREAT  ENTERPRISE  117 

"  The  States  professed  great  devotion  to  Your  Highness,"  he 
said,  "  and  spoke  from  their  hearts." 

"  I  do  thank  you,"  she  answered,  in  a  very  low  tone.  "  Will 
you  not  come  into  the  house?" 

He  followed  her  across  the  bare  garden,  and  there  was 
nothing  said  between  them,  each  being  deeply  engaged  with 
different  thoughts  on  the  same  subject. 

As  they  neared  the  villa,  one  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  Princess's 
household  came  to  meet  them  and  acquainted  Mary  that  a  lady 
who  besought  her  charity  .implored  her  for  an  immediate  audience. 

The  Princess  was  well  used  to  these  applications.  Out  of  her 
meagre  allowance  she  contrived  to  greatly  assuage  the  sufferings 
of  the  distressed  refugees  at  The  Hague,  and  this  liberality  of 
hers  being  known,  she  received  more  petitions  than  she  could  at 
all  comply  with,  which  was  a  source  of  great  distress  to  her 
gentle  heart. 

"  Alas ! "  she  said ;  "  I  have  already  a  great  list  of  persons 
unsatisfied,  and  worthy  cases,  too  ',  but  it  is  more  than  I  dare  put 
before  His  Highness  in  this  present  juncture " 

"This  seemeth,  Your  Highness,  a  gentlewoman  of  the  better 
sort,  English,  and  most  earnest  for  speech  with  you." 

" I  can  but  see  her,"  answered  Mary  quickly.  "Only  I  trust 
she  will  not  raise  her  hopes  of  what  I  can  do  for  her.  M.  Auver- 
querque,  forgive  me." 

With  a  little  curtsy  to  that  gentleman  she  entered  the  house. 

"  Where  is  this  gentlewoman  ?  " 

In  her  withdrawing  room,  she  was  told,  and  there  Mary  pro- 
ceeded, without  ceremony,  still  wearing  her  cloak. 

The  small  but  handsome  room  held  a  pleasant  sense  of 
comfort  in  contrast  to  the  dead  grey  weather  without.  A  great 
log  fire  cast  a  glittering  light  over  the  dark  furniture,  and  in  the 
full  glow  of  it  stood  a  tall  lady  wrapped  in  a  crimson  mantle  that 
half  disclosed  an  embroidered  sacque,  and  wearing,  twisted  round 
her  head  and  shoulders,  a  fine  Eastern  scarf  embroidered  in 
many  colours;  she  was  much  older  than  Mary,  and  looked 
fatigued  to  illness ;  her  large  fair  eyes  were  heavily  shadowed  and 
her  mouth  strained,  but  her  appearance  was  one  of  great  beauty. 
When  the  Princess  entered  she  made  a  little  deprecating, 
half-expectant  movement  forward,  as  if  hoping  for  recognition ; 


n8  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

but  she  was  utterly  strange  to  Mary,  who  looked  at  her  in  some 
embarrassment,  seeing  at  once  that  this  was  no  ordinary 
supplicant. 

The  strange  lady  gazed  at  her  sadly. 

"Ten  years  have  changed  you  to  beauty  and  me  to  age, 
Highness,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  of  singular  sweetness.  "You 
have  forgotten  me.  And  I  should  scarcely  have  known  Your 
Highness." 

"  Indeed,"  answered  Mary,  a  little  bewildered,  "  I  cannot 
recall  you.  But  I  do  perceive  that  you  are  my  countrywoman ; 
perhaps  I  knew  you  at  Whitehall  ?  " 

"  It  was  there  we  met,  Madame, — and  of  late  we  have  corre- 
sponded  " 

"  Why,  who  are  you,  Madame  ?  " 

The  elder  lady  cast  herself  to  her  knees  before  the  Princess, 
and  answered  with  some  wildness — 

"  I  am  the  unfortunate  wife  of  my  Lord  Sunderland  ! " 

"  My  Lady  Sunderland  !  Madame,  you  must  not  kneel.  Oh, 
what  hath  passed  in  England  to  bring  you  here  ?  " 

Mary  impetuously  raised  the  Countess,  who  kissed  her  hands 
in  a  kind  of  frantic  entreaty. 

"  Where  is  the  Earl  ?  "  cried  Mary,  with  a  flush  of  agitation. 

"  He  hath  fled,"  whispered  Lady  Sunderland,  "  to  Amsterdam, 
where  he  is  in  hiding.  We  have  lost  everything — everything ;  his 
life  was  in  danger ;  there  was  no  man  in  all  the  ministry  hated 
like  my  lord " 

The  painful  colour  burnt  in  Mary's  cheek. 

"His  Majesty  discovered — the  intrigues — with  us?"  she 
asked. 

"  No — else  it  had  been  Tower  Hill ;  but  the  Catholics  under- 
mined him — my  lord  could  not  hold  his  own — he  was  dismissed 
all  his  offices,  and  when  the  Prince  his  Declaration  was  spread 
abroad,  there  rose  such  a  spirit  in  the  nation  that  we  were  no 
longer  safe,  and  while  we  could,  we  fled." 

Mary  took  a  quick  step  across  the  room  and  laid  her 
trembling  hand  on  Lady  Sunderland's  arm. 

"  The  King — knoweth?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  last  dispatch  of  M.  D'Albeville  told  him,  and  he  was 
struck  silent  with  dismay." 


THE  GREAT  ENTERPRISE  119 

"  Alas !  alas ! "  was  wrung  from  Mary,  "  that  this  should 
have  had  to  be  !  It  is  my  father,  Madame,  and  I  do  a  bitter 
thing  against  him " 

She  sank  into  the  great  walnut  chair  by  the  fire,  and  the 
ready  tears  overbrimmed  and  ran  down  her  white  cheeks. 

"Your  Highness  hath  a  patriotic  public  duty  to  perform," 
said  Lady  Sunderland.  "  And  must  not  think  of  this " 

"No,"  answered  Mary  unsteadily,  "no;"  she  stretched 
out  her  hand  and  drew  the  other  woman  towards  her  ;  "  but  you 
— you  have  taken  a  strange  part,  my  lady " 

"My  lord,"  said  the  Countess  earnestly,  "hath  served  His 
Highness  to  his  own  extreme  peril,  and  now  I  am  come  to  plead 
a  pardon  for  him  from  you " 

"  But  you  yourself,"  urged  Mary ;  "  what  have  you  felt  towards 
these  affairs  ?  " 

She  rose,  still  holding  the  fluttering  hand  of  Lady  Sunderland, 
and  looked  steadily  into  her  eyes. 

"I  have  done  as  my  lord  directed,"  was  the  answer.  "I 
have  served  him  all  my  life.  I  shall  serve  him — always." 

Mary  dropped  her  hand.  The  thought  that  stirred  her  was 
that  she  could  not  judge,  since  that  same  unquestioning  devotion 
ruled  her  life  too. 

"  My  lord  his  services,"  she  said  faintly,  "  are  not  such  as  the 
Prince  can  with  honour  reward." 

"  Nor,"  answered  my  lady  with  some  pride,  "  such  as  he  can 
with  honour  ignore " 

"  He  is  apostate,"  said  Mary ;  "  that  cannot  be  forgiven." 

"  It  can  be  pardoned." 

"What  would  you,  Madame?  The  Earl  is  no  subject  of  the 
Prince." 

"  He  is  his  supplicant — as  I  am ;  he  might  have  gone  to 
France,  but  he  hath  put  himself  at  the  mercy  of  His  Highness." 

"  The  Prince  is  ever  generous,"  answered  Mary,  "  but  what 
he  can  do  here  I  know  not." 

She  drew  away  a  little  from  the  Countess5  for  in  her  thoughts 
were  rising  the  remembrances  of  all  the  ignoble  parts  my  lord  had 
played,  and  the  ill  reports  she  had  received  of  him  and  his  wife 
from  her  sister,  the  Princess  Anne. 

"  You  must  see  the  Prince,"  she  said,  something  coldly. 


120  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

Lady  Sunderland  was  quick  to  notice  this  change  of  manner. 

"  I  am  a  woman  in  bitter  trouble,"  she  answered.  "  I  stand 
before  you  no  better  than  a  beggar.  If  it  were  not  that  I  might 
still  be  of  use  to  my  lord,  I  would  pray  to  die." 

"  You  are  very  weary,"  said  Mary,  with  instant  kindness.  She 
drew  her  to  seat  herself  on  the  long  brocade  couch — "  Poor  soul, 
I  doubt  that  you  are  very  sad  ! " 

Lady  Sunderland  looked  at  her  wildly,  then  burst  into 
anguished  tears. 

"  Ah,  Madame ! "  cried  Mary,  bending  over  her,  "  I  do 
beseech  you  take  comfort." 

The  Countess  kept  her  face  hidden,  and  her  bowed  shoulders 
heaved. 

"  Nothing  shall  happen  to  the  Earl,  I  dare  swear." 

Lady  Sunderland  looked  up. 

"Forgive  me.  I  have  not  wept  for  so  long,  My  son,  my 
eldest  son,  is  recently  dead  in  Paris  in  an  obscure  duel — I  hoped 
so  much  from  him — once.  Dead !  Indeed  I  know  not  what 
I  say." 

Mary  shuddered.  She  recalled  the  Lady  Sunderland  of 
former  days — brilliant,  ambitious,  superbly  happy — a  woman  she 
herself  had  looked  up  to  with  a  half  awe  as  a  personification  of 
all  the  allurement  of  that  splendid  life  she  had  left  so  early ;  she 
thought  of  all  the  unscrupulous  intrigues,  bargains,  deceits, 
buyings  and  sellings  this  lady  had  helped  her  shameless  husband 
with ;  the  extraordinary  double  game  they  had  played  so  long 
and  successfully.  But  looking  at  this,  the  sudden  end,  penniless, 
bereaved,  exiled,  she  felt  no  scorn,  only  a  great  pity;  for  the 
Countess  had  been  faithful,  and  Mary  thought  that  a  great  virtue 
in  a  woman. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  of  Lord  Spencer,"  she  said  gently.  "  I 
am  very  sorry ;  it  is  sad  for  you." 

The  Countess  dried  her  eyes  swiftly. 

"  I  do  not  know  why  I  should  weep  for  him,"  she  answered 
half  fiercely;  "he  went  near  to  break  my  heart.  He  was  what 
they  call  worthless." 

She  paused,  and  Mary  stood  silent ;  she  was  not  unaware 
that  the  sharpest  prick  to  Lord  Sunderland's  magnificence  had 
ever  been  that  poor  useless  rake,  his  son,  nor  ignorant  of  the 


THE  GREAT  ENTERPRISE  121 

Countess's  long  endeavour  to  make  some  show  before  the  world 
in  this  matter,  and  now  that  broken  pride  opened  its  heart  to 
her,  a  stranger,  the  sadness  of  it  held  her  mute. 

Lady  Sunderland's  wet  strained  eyes  looked  past  the  fireglow 
to  the  bare  boughs  and  cloudy  heavens  framed  in  the  tall  window. 

"  It  is  much  better  that  he  is  gone,"  she  continued.  "  Yet — 
last  night  I  went  on  the  deck  of  the  packet  and  it  was  all  so 
dark  and  cold,  not  a  star,  and  the  waves  sounding,  but  not  to  be 
seen,  and  I  remembered  how  little  he  was  once,  and  how  warm 
in  my  arms,  and  then  methought  he  was  somewhere  crying  for 
me  in  the  chill  blackness  .  .  .  abroad — in  a  poor  lodging  with 
no  friend." 

She  wrung  her  hands  together  with  irrepressible  horror. 

"  My  God  ! "  she  cried,  "  there's  a  way  to  die  ! " 

Mary  caught  her  arm. 

"  You  must  not  think  of  it  like  that ;  there  is  another  side 
to  it — God  is  very  merciful,  I  know  nothing — but  in  heaven 
there  is  great  pity  for  all  of  us." 

The  Countess  turned  and  stared  at  her  a  moment,  with  her 
handkerchief  to  her  lips,  then  said  unsteadily — 

"  I  never  meant  to  speak  like  this — but  Your  Highness  is  so 
gentle " 

Mary  smiled. 

"  I  must  carry  you  to  my  Lady  Argyll,  Lady  Balcarres  that 
was,  who  is  here  with  her  daughters " 

She  turned  swiftly,  for  the  door  opened,  and  a  familiar  voice 
behind  her  said  eagerly  her  name — "  Marie,  Marie " 

It  was  the  Prince;  as  he  entered  he  paused,  seeing  the 
Countess,  who  had  instantly  risen. 

"  Lady  Sunderland ! "  he  exclaimed,  before  Mary  could  speak, 
and  stood  amazed. 

They  had  not  seen  each  other  since  the  occasion  of  the 
Prince's  last  visit  to  England,  and  though  he  knew  her  at  once 
he  found  her  considerably  changed. 

"The  Earl  hath  fallen?"  he  added  swiftly. 

Lady  Sunderland  was  mistress  of  herself  immediately  on 
his  appearance.  By  force  of  her  long  training  she  fell  into 
the  same  manner  she  would  have  used  to  him  at  Whitehall  or 
Windsor ;  she  gave  him  a  great  courtly  courtsey. 


122  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"The  Earl  is  a  refugee  at  Amsterdam,  Your  Highness,"  she 
said,  "  and  I  am  here  beseeching  charity." 

"  Ah."  William  drew  a  quick  breath.  "  I  thought  my  lord 
was  safe  enough — the  King  discovered  him?" 

"  No,  sir,  the  Catholics  unseated  him." 

The  Prince  crossed  slowly  to  the  fire. 

"So,"  he  said  slowly — (<well,  Madame,  the  Earl  is  safe  in 
Amsterdam,  and  the  Princess  will  make  you  welcome." 

A  flush  of  reviving  hope  kindled  the  refugee's  pale  cheek. 

"We  are  assured  of  the  gracious  protection  of  Your 
Highness  ?  "  she  asked  ardently. 

"My  lord  hath  done  me  considerable  service,"  answered 
William.  "  But,  Madame,  he  is  not  loved  by  those  English  I 
have  about  me  now."  He  smiled  dryly.  "Yet,  if  he  will  lie 
quiet  awhile — I  am  not  ungrateful " 

"It  is  all  we  ask,"  said  Lady  Sunderland  warmly.  "My 
lord  wisheth  only  to  live  in  quiet  obscurity  unless  he  can  serve 
Your  Highness — some  way " 

William  gave  her  a  keen  look. 

"  I  hardly  think,"  he  answered,  "  that  M.  de  Sunderland  is 
fitted  for  quiet  obscurity — but  perhaps  he  will  endure  it  a  little 
while.  I  leave  for  Helvoetsluys  to-morrow." 

"God  bless  this  noble  enterprise  Your  Highness  hath  on 
hand!"  cried  the  Countess  fervently.  "Could  you  see  the 
crowds  waiting  outside  Whitehall  and  a-studying  the  weather- 
cock and  praying  for  a  Protestant  wind  you  would  be  heartened 
further  in  your  daring  ! " 

The  Prince  took  a  swift  look  at  his  wife,  who  stood  with 
averted  face  by  the  window. 

"  The  King — how  took  he  the  news  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  heard  that  he  was  all  bewildered  (being  then  deeply 
engaged  in  the  Cologne  dispute  and  thinking  nothing  of  this, 
like  a  man  besotted)  and  would  not  part  with  the  Declaration  of 
Your  Highness,  but  carried  it  ?,bout  with  him  re-reading  it — then 
he  called  the  bishops  to  ask  if  they  had  put  their  hands  to  the 
invitation,  and  they  gave  him  no — after  which  he  made  all 
manner  of  concessions,  like  one  in  a  panic  fear " 

"Concessions?"  interrupted  the  Prince. 

"Sir,   he    gave   back    the    charter  to    the    city   with  due 


THE  GREAT  ENTERPRISE  123 

solemnity,  and  their  privileges  to  the  fellows  of  Oxford  and 
Cambridge,  and  there  was  held  an  inquiry  into  the  birth  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales — all  of  which  but  wasted  the  dignity  of  His 
Majesty  and  brought  more  ridicule  than  respect — for  all  are 
equally  eager  for  Your  Highness,  and  these  concessions  come 
too  late." 

"Too  late,  indeed,"  said  William  quietly.  "I  hope  this 
week  to  be  in  England.  How  came  you  across,  Madame?  I 
have  stopped  the  packet  service  lest  they  carry  too  sure  advices 
of  what  we  do  here " 

Lady  Sunderland  smiled  sadly. 

"  In  a  little  owler,  sir,  we  slipped  off  from  Margate  sands, 
and  the  weather  was  so  terrible  we  were  like  to  have  been 
whelmed  by  the  overtopping  waves;  yet  we  gained  Maaslandsluys, 
and  from  there  my  lord  went  on  to  Amsterdam " 

"He  was  wise,"  said  the  Prince,  "not  to  come  to  The 
Hague." 

Lady  Sunderland  looked  at  Mary,  who  had  stood  motionless 
so  long. 

"  Your  Highness — may  I  not  retire  ?  I  have  taken  too  much 
of  your  time " 

The  Princess  turned  about  with  a  little  start. 

"  Where  are  you  lodging  ?  "  she  asked. 

"With  one  Madame  de  Marsac — known,  I  think,  to  Your 
Highness " 

"  You  must  stay  with  me,"  answered  Mary  warmly,  yet  with 
a  curious  absent  air  of  distraction.  "  I  will  take  you  to  the  other 
English  ladies " 

She  looked  at  her  husband. 

"  I  shall  come  back,"  she  said.  He  gave  a  little  nod  which 
cut  short  the  graceful  gratitude  of  the  Countess,  and  the  two 
ladies  left. 

Now  he  was  alone  he  seated  himself  near  to  the  fire  with 
that  air  of  utter  fatigue  that  was  like  apathy  and  seemed  at  times, 
when  he  was  out  of  the  sight  of  men,  to  overwhelm  his  great 
spirit. 

He  sat  quite  still,  gazing  into  the  fire  from  under  drooping 
lids,  and  when  Mary  softly  returned  he  did  not  move. 

She  slipped  behind  his  chair  and  took  the  stool  the  opposite 


124  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

side  of  the  hearth ;  she  had  put  off  her  cloak ;  the  firelight 
touched  her  brown  dress  and  brown  hair  to  a  beautiful  ruby 
warmth  and  gave  a  false  rosiness  to  her  pale  face. 

"  I  am  grieved  for  Lady  Sunderland,"  she  said. 

The  Prince  answered  absently. 

"Ah  yes — I  believe  she  is  a  knave  like  him — but  they  are 
clever,  and  he  at  least  hath  some  root  of  patriotism  in  him." 

"  Yet  I  am  sorry  that  you  must  use  such  people." 

He  made  no  reply,  but  continued  to  gaze  sadly  and  sternly 
into  the  fire. 

Mary  gave  a  little  shudder. 

"  I  cannot  believe  that  to-morrow  we  go  to  Helvoetsluys " 

Her  voice  broke,  and  she  steadied  it  hastily. 

"The  States  are  coming  also,  are  they  not,  to  see  your 
departure  ?  " 

"They  are  paying  me  that  compliment,"  he  answered 
indifferently. 

"What  chance  will  your  poor  wife  have  to  speak  to  you 
then — amid  that  pomp " 

He  sat  up  and  looked  at  her  with  instant  attention. 

"Have  you  something  that  you  wish  to  say  to  me,  Marie?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  earnestly.  "I  do  desire  to  ask  you — for 
your  own  sake — to  see  that  no  harm  happeneth  to — my  father." 

Now  she  had  spoken  she  sat  very  pale  and  distressed,  but 
fixing  him  with  her  soft  brown  eyes  ardently. 

He  flushed,  and  seemed  much  moved. 

"  That  you  should  need  to  ask "  he  began,  then  checked 

himself.     "  I  promise,"  he  said. 

"  For  your  own  dear  sake,"  she  cried,  "  forgive  me  for  speak- 
ing of  this — but  let  people  know  you  would  not  have  him 
hurt " 

He  gazed  at  her  intently. 

"This  is  hard  for  you,"  he  replied.  "  I  could  not  go  without 
your  sanction  and  your  help " 

He  broke  off  again.  Speech,  which  had  always  seemed  in- 
adequate to  him,  now  seemed  to  merely  travesty  his  feelings. 

She  too  was  silent ;  she  had  lowered  her  eyes  and  seemed 
to  be  thinking  deeply.  The  Prince  studied  her  with  an  almost 
painful  intensity. 


THE  GREAT  ENTERPRISE  125 

She  was  so  lovely,  so  gracious,  so  sweet,  so  high  souled  .  .  . 
he  remembered  how  he  had  disliked  and  despised  her,  treated 
her  with  neglect,  then  indifference,  made  no  effort  to  please  or 
win  her ;  and  yet  she,  during  the  ten  years  of  their  marriage,  had 
never  from  the  first  failed  in  obedience,  sweetness,  self-abnega- 
tion, nor  once  faltered  from  a  passionate  devotion  to  his  interests, 
an  unchanging  belief  in  him,  and  now,  for  him,  she  was  doing 
violence  to  her  own  heart  and  setting  herself  in  active  opposi- 
tion against  her  father,  a  tremendous  thing  for  such  a  nature  to 
bring  itself  to.  As  he  gazed  at  her  fair  youth,  pale  with  anxiety 
for  him,  he  felt  she  was  the  greatest  triumph  of  his  life,  and  her 
love  an  undeserved  miracle. 

And  there  came  to  his  mind  a  certain  conversation  that  he 
had  had  with  Sir  William  Temple  in  a  sunny  garden  at  Nymwegen 
before  his  marriage.  He  remembered  that  the  Englishman  had 
smiled  at  his  scornful  talk  of  the  Princess,  and  had  said — "  Do 
not  despise  good  women  because  there  are  so  many  of  them " 

Mary  suddenly  moved  and  rose.  The  sun  had  parted  the 
loose  clouds  and  a  fine  ray  fell  through  the  tall  window  and 
shone  in  her  bright  hair  and  satin  skirt.  His  thoughts  were 
scattered  by  her  movement ;  he  rose  also. 

She  smiled  at  him. 

"  How  kind  you  are  to  me,"  she  said,  trembling,  and  very  low. 

"  Dear  God ! "  he  exclaimed  softly,  as  if  he  was  mocked. 
"In  what  way?" 

"In  giving  me  so  much  more  of  your  company  of  late," 
answered  Mary  simply. 

The  Prince  looked  at  her  strangely. 

"  Women  are  wonderful,"  he  said  humbly. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
STORMS 

THE  long  sand-dunes  about  the  village  of  Scheveningen 
were  covered  with  spectators  to  the  number  of  several 
thousands,  comprising  nearly  the  entire  population  of  The  Hague, 
several  strangers,  refugees  from  other  parts  of  Holland,  and 
many  French,  German,  and  English;  they  were  principally 
women,  children,  and  old  men,  or  those  in  the  sober  attire  of 
merchants,  clerks,  servants,  or  shopkeepers. 

One  single  object  seemed  to  animate  these  people;  they 
were  all  utterly  silent,  and  all  directed  their  gaze  in  one  direction 
— that  of  the  sea. 

There,  covering  the  entire  sweep  of  water  and  obscuring  the 
great  horizon  itself,  rode  that  huge  armament  which  contained 
the  whole  strength  of  the  Republic,  and  on  which  was  staked 
her  hopes  and  her  safety. 

This  fleet  had  weighed  anchor  during  the  stillness  of  the 
previous  night ;  a  few  hours  after  the  wind  had  turned  to  the 
south  and  so  brought  all  the  ships  on  the  north  coast,  where, 
for  half  a  day,  they  had  been  in  full  view  of  The  Hague. 

The  weather  was  still  and  warm,  the  sky  a  sunny  blue,  and 
the  long  stretches  of  the  dunes  touched  from  their  usual  greyness 
to  a  gold  look.  Towards  afternoon  a  fine  mist  rose  shimmering 
from  the  sea  and  gave  a  curious  unreal  flatness  to  the  naval 
pageantry,  as  if  it  was  some  magnificent  vision  painted  between 
sea  and  sky. 

Without  speaking,  save  in  short  whispers  to  each  other,  with- 
out moving,  save  to  change  their  places  by  a  few  steps,  the 
people  continued  to  gaze  at  the  gorgeous  spectacle,  the  like  of 
which  no  living  man  had  been  able  to  see  before. 

There  were  no  less  than  sixty-five  great  ships  of  wars,  splendid 

vessels  rising  high  above  the  waves,  with  much  gold  on  them, 

126 


STORMS  127 

seventy  vessels  of  burden  in  attendance  on  them   and  five 
hundred  transports. 

These  ships  carried  five  thousand  cavalry  and  ten  thousand 
infantry  of  the  magnificent  Dutch  army,  the  six  British  regiments 
in  the  employ  of  the  States,  the  French  Protestants  formed  into 
a  regiment  by  the  Prince  after  the  Edict  of  Nantz  was  revoked, 
and  the  whole  artillery  of  every  town  in  the  Republic,  which  had 
been  left  stripped  of  all  defences  save  twelve  ships  of  war  and 
the  German  troops  on  the  Rhine  frontier. 

The  immobile,  silent  effect  of  this  great  and  terrible  fleet, 
spreading  for  miles  and  representing  the  entire  strength  of  a 
vast  maritime  power,  making  little  progress  and  waiting  for  the 
wind,  wrought  a  kind  of  exaltation  in  the  hearts  of  the  spectators, 
all  of  whom  felt  their  fortunes  dependent  on  the  success  of  this 
enterprise,  and  most  of  whom  had  friends  and  relations  on  board, 
or  in  England,  whose  lives  were  now  at  the  hazard. 

But  no  dread  of  personal  loss  or  discomfiture,  no  fear  for 
those  dear  to  them,  could  equal  the  grand  swell  of  pride  the 
Dutch  felt  at  beholding  the  magnificence  of  the  Republic  they 
had  built  up  out  of  blood  and  tears,  the  power  of  the  Religion 
they  had  preserved  through  perils  and  agonies  inconceivable, 
and  which  had  now  grown,  from  a  little  feeble  spark,  to  a  torch 
to  illume  half  the  world. 

The  dangers  to  which  they  were  exposed,  the  chances  of  attack 
from  a  powerful  enemy  while  their  defences  were  abroad  courting 
the  fortune  of  war  and  the  hazard  of  the  winds  and  sea,  the  fact 
that  their  artillery  was  gone  and  their  frontier  was  on  one  side 
in  the  possession  of  their  enemies  and  on  the  other  but  protected 
by  German  mercenaries,  could  not  check  the  sense  of  glory  that 
stirred  them  as  they  watched  the  changing  leagues  of  ships,  so 
near,  yet  so  silent  and  beyond  communication. 

The  exiles,  French  and  English,  gazed  with  more  sullen 
feelings  ;  but  while  no  national  pride  was  thrilled  in  their  bosoms, 
the  thought  of  their  former  wrongs  and  suffering  and  the  antici- 
pation of  their  speedy  avenging  made  them  no  less  fiercely  wish 
success  to  those  spreading  sails  wooing  the  wind  for  England. 
And  there  was  one  foreigner,  who  loved  Holland  as  her  own 
country,  and  whose  heart  beat  with  a  pride  and  a  terror  as  in- 
tense as  that  which  inspired  any  of  the  Dutch. 


128  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

This  was  the  wife  of  the  Stadtholder,  who  had  yesterday  re- 
turned from  Helvoetsluys.  She  had  been  above  two  hours  riding 
up  and  down  the  sands  watching  the  slow  passing  of  the  fleet ; 
in  her  company  were  the  English  ladies,  the  Countesses  of 
Sunderland  and  Argyll  and  some  of  her  own  attendants ;  she  had 
been  very  silent,  and,  now,  as  the  afternoon  was  fading,  she 
touched  up  her  beast  and  galloped  away  from  all  of  them  along 
the  dunes. 

She  reined  her  black  horse  at  a  higher  point  where  some 
sparse  poplar  trees,  stunted,  leafless,  and  tufts  of  crackling  grass 
grew  out  of  the  dry  white  sand,  and  looked  round  at  the  great 
sweep  of  sea  covered  with  ships  and  the  great  curve  of  shore 
covered  with  people. 

Then  her  glance  returned  to  the  object  where  it  had  rested 
since  she  first  rode  down  to  Scheveningen,  the  blue  flag  hanging 
heavily  above  the  "  Brill,"  the  ship  in  which  the  Prince  sailed. 

Amid  all  the  crossed  lines  of  mighty  masts,  intricate  cordage, 
and  strained  sails  she  had  never  failed  to  distinguish,  now  in 
sun,  now  in  shade,  sometimes  lifted  by  the  breeze,  sometimes 
slack,  this  standard,  though  she  was  very  shortsighted,  and 
much  clear  to  the  other  spectators  was  a  blur  to  her.  When  she 
used  her  perspective  glass  she  could  sometimes  read  the  legend 
on  this  flag,  which  was  the  motto  of  the  House  of  Orange  with 
the  ellipsis  filled  in — "  I  will  maintain  the  liberties  of  England 
and  the  Protestant  Religion." 

Mary  rode  out  farther  along  the  dunes,  the  crisp  sand  flying 
from  her  horse's  feet.  She  was  a  fine  horsewoman,  and  had 
dropped  the  reins  on  her  saddle  to  hold  her  glass.  The  wind  was 
keen  on  her  face  and  swept  back  the  long  curls  from  her  ears 
and  fluttered  the  white  plume  in  her  beaver.  Though  she  was 
near  so  vast  a  multitude  no  human  sound  disturbed  the  clear 
stillness  ;  there  was  only  the  long  beat  of  the  surf  on  the  smooth 
wet  sand  and  an  occasional  cry  of  some  pearl-coloured  sea-bird 
as  he  flashed  across  the  golden  grey. 

In  Mary's  heart  all  terror,  remorse,  sadness  had  been  ab- 
sorbed by  strong  pride,  the  doubts,  shames,  fears  that  had 
tortured  her  were  gone ;  she  did  not  think  of  her  father,  of  her 
danger,  of  her  loneliness,  only  that  she,  of  all  the  women  there, 
was  the  beloved  wife  of  the  man  who  led  this — a  nation's  strength 


STORMS  129 

—into  war  for  that  cause  which  to  her  was  the  holiest  of  all  causes, 
the  new  liberty  against  the  ancient  tyranny,  tolerance  against 
oppression — all  that  she  symbolized  by  the  word  Protestantism. 

She  was  so  absorbed  in  this  ecstasy  of  pride  and  enthusiasm 
at  the  sight  on  which  she  gazed  that  she  started  considerably  to 
hear  a  voice  close  beside  her  say — 

"  Is  it  not  a  magnificent  spectacle,  Madame  ?  "  Mary  turned 
quickly  and  saw  a  plainly  dressed  lady  on  a  poor  hired  beast 
riding  close  up  to  her.  Solitude  was  dear  to  the  Princess  but  to 
rebuke  an  advance  was  impossible  to  her  nature. 

"  Are  you  from  The  Hague  ?  "  she  asked  gently. 

"  Yes,  Madame,  I  came  there  yesterday." 

She  was  English,  and  obviously  did  not  know  Mary,  who  was 
moved  by  something  pitifully  eager  and  wistful  in  her  worn  thin 
face  and  stooping  figure. 

"  You  are  belike  one  of  the  English  exiles  ?  "  she  suggested 
kindly. 

The  other  opened  out  at  once  with  a  glow  of  gratitude  at  the 
interest. 

"My  husband  was  an  officer  in  the  Staffordshire,  and  we 
had  no  money  but  his  pay,  so  when  he  refused  to  abjure  there 
was  nothing  for  us  but  exile." 

Mary  pointed  to  the  fleet. 

"  He — your  husband — is  there  ?  " 

"Yes — the  Prince  gave  him  a  pair  of  colours  in  one  of  the 
English  regiments." 

"  You  should  be  proud,"  smiled  Mary. 

She  answered  simply — 

"  I  am  very  proud.  I  pray  God  to  bless  the  Prince  day  and 
night.  Where  should  such  as  I  be  but  for  him  ?  You,  I  see, 
Madame,  are  also  English." 

"Yes." 

The  stranger  lady  glanced  at  Mary's  gold-braided  coat  and 
splendid  horse. 

"  But  not  a  refugee  ?  "  she  questioned. 

"  No — my  home  is  at  The  Hague.  I  am  married  to  a 
Dutchman." 

The  other  was  looking  out  to  sea  again. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  how  the  ships  are  disposed  ?  "  she  asked. 
9 


130  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"What  is  your  name,  Madame ?':' 

"  Dorothy  Marston." 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Marston,  those  in  the  foremost  squadron,  to  the 
left" — Mary  indicated  them  with  her  riding-stock — "have  on 
board  the  English  and  Scotch,  commanded  by  General  Mackay 
— they  sail  under  the  red  flag  of  Admiral  Herbert,  who  is  given 
the  van  out  of  compliment  to  the  English,"  added  the  Princess, 
with  sparkling  eyes. 

Mrs.  Marston  drew  an  excited  breath. 

"  Those  scattered  ships,  under  the  white  flag,  are  the  Germans, 
the  Prince  his  guards  and  Brandenburgers  under  Count  Zolms, 
and  these  that  bring  up  the  van  are  the  Dutch  and  the  French 
Huguenots  under  the  Count  of  Nassau — this  squadron  is  under 
the  orders  of  Admiral  Evertzen." 

"  And  where,  Madame,  is  the  Prince  ?  " 

"  In  the  centre — you  can  see  his  flag  with  his  arms — it  is 
called  the  '  Brill.' " 

"Thank  you,  Madame — it  is  a  noble  sight,  is  it  not  ?" 

Mary  laughed  softly ;  she  was  so  secure  in  her  own  exaltation, 
that  she  felt  a  kind  of  pity  for  the  rest  of  the  world. 

"  Your  husband  is  aboard  the  fleet  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Marston, 
with  friendly  curiosity. 

"Yes,"  said  Mary  quietly. 

"  Well,  there  is  heartache  in  it  as  well  as  pride  for  us,  is  not 
there,  Madame?" 

Mary  answered  with  sparkling  animation,  her  eyes  on  the 
blue  flag. 

"  That  is  for  afterwards." 

Mrs.  Marston  sighed. 

"  I  know — but  one  storm " 

"  Speak  not  of  storms,"  answered  Mary,  "  when  we  have  all 
whom  we  love  on  board  yonder  ships " 

"Not  a//." 

Mary  turned  her  eyes  from  the  fleet  that  was  gradually 
becoming  enveloped  in  the  mists  of  the  darkening  afternoon. 

"  How— not  all  ?  " 

"There  are  always  the  children,"  answered  the  other  lady, 
with  a  bright  tenderness.  "I  have  three,  Madame,  whom  we 
keep  in  Amsterdam,  as  The  Hague  is  so  expensive ' 


STORMS  131 

Mary's  horse  started,  and  she  caught  up  the  reins  and  clutched 
them  to  her  bosom.  "  They  are — boys  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  changed 
voice. 

"Two,  Madame.  If  they  had  gone  I  should  indeed  be 
desolate — but  they  are  too  young,  and  I  am  selfish  enough  to  be 
glad  of  it." 

Mary  sat  motionless.  The  whole  sky  was  darkening,  and 
hurrying  clouds  hastened  the  twilight.  The  waves  were  growing 
in  size  and  making  a  longer  roar  as  they  curled  over  on  to  the 
land ;  the  great  ships  of  war  could  be  seen  tossing  as  their  wind- 
filled  sails  drove  them  forwards,  and  the  little  boats  were  pitched 
low  on  their  sides. 

"It  indeed  seemeth  like  a  storm,"  said  Mary  faintly;  her 
courage,  her  pride,  had  utterly  gone ;  the  eyes  she  strained  to  fix 
on  the  blue  flag  were  sad  and  wild. 

"A  storm?"  echoed  Mrs.  Marston.  "O  God,  protect 
us!" 

Suddenly  a  low  deep  murmur  rose  from  the  distant  multitude. 

"What  is  that?" 

"They  have  lit  the  lantern  on  the  Prince  his  ship,"  said 
Mary,  very  low. 

The  English  exile  thrilled  to  see  the  great  clear  light  hoisted 
amid  the  masts  and  cordage,  sparkling,  a  beacon  through  the 
stormy  dusk  ;  her  thoughts  travelled  from  her  children,  whom  so 
lately  she  had  spoken  of. 

"  It  is  sad,"  she  remarked,  "  that  the  Prince  hath  no  heir." 

"His  cousin,  the  Stadtholder  of  Friseland,  is  his  heir," 
answered  Mary,  with  sudden  harshness. 

"  Ah  yes ;  I  meant  no  child.  My  husband  saith  it  is  cruel 
for  any  man  and  terrible  for  a  great  Prince — for  how  useless  all 
seemeth  with  none  to  inherit !  And  such  an  ancient  family  to 
end  so  suddenly " 

Mary  murmured  something  incoherent,  of  which  Mrs.  Marston 
took  no  notice. 

"I  would  not  be  the  Princess,"  she  continued,  "for  her 
chances  of  a  crown,  would  you,  Madame  ?  It  is  a  cruel  thing — I 
met  in  Utrecht  a  Scotswoman  who  had  been  her  tirewoman,  and 
she  told  me  that  the  poor  lady  was  like  a  maniac  after  her  second 
hopes  were  disappointed  and  for  ever " 


132  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

Mary  put  out  her  hand ;  her  face  was  concealed  by  the 
deeping  dusk  and  the  shade  of  her  hat. 

"  Please  stop,"  she  said,  in  a  hard  voice.  "  I — you  do  not 
understand — do  people  talk  of  this  ?  God  is  hard  it  seems — and 
you  have  children,  and  I  pitied  you.  I  have  been  too  proud — 
but  humbled  enough,  I  think." 

Her  speech  was  so  confused  and  broken  that  the  English 
lady  could  make  no  sense  of  it ;  she  stared  at  her  in  surprise. 

"Why,  my  speech  annoys  you,  Madame." 

Mary  turned  to  the  sea  again. 

"  No — continue — people  talk  of  this  ?  "  She  was  facing  the 
overwhelming  bitterness  of  the  discovery  that  her  inmost  anguish, 
which  had  been  too  sacred  to  take  on  her  own  lips,  was  matter 
for  common  gossip.  It  was  an  extraordinary  shock,  so  carefully 
had  the  subject  always  been  ignored  before  her,  and  yet,  she 
told  herself  fiercely,  she  might  have  known  that  it  was  discussed 
in  the  very  streets,  for  it  was  a  matter  that  affected  nations. 

"  You  must  have  heard  it  spoken  of  if  you  have  lived  any 
time  in  Holland,"  answered  Mrs.  Marston — "  ay,  or  in  England 
either — they  say  'tis  a  pity  the  Princess  cannot  do  as  the  Queen 
did,  and  smuggle  an  heir  out  of  a  warming-pan — why,  see,  the 
ships  are  moving  out  of  sight ! " 

A  great  wind  had  risen  which  tore  the  clouds  across  the 
paling  sky  and  drove  the  ships  across  the  rising  sea ;  already  a 
widening  expanse  of  waves  showed  between  the  fleet  and  the 
sands  from  which  the  people  were  beginning  to  depart  in  silent 
groups ;  all  mist  had  gone,  swept  away  like  vapour  from  a  mirror, 
and  every  tumbling  crested  wave  was  clear  in  the  storm-light. 
Mary  held  herself  rigid,  watching  the  blue  flag  lurching  to  the 
pitching  of  the  high  vessel ;  a  mere  speck  it  was  now,  and  near 
the  horizon,  and  she  watched  it  with  no  feeling  of  pride  now, 
that  was ;  the  momentary  exaltation  had  passed,  been  crushed 
utterly  by  a  few  careless  words. 

Mrs.  Marston  spoke  again,  but  Mary  did  not  hear  her ;  she 
was  alone  in  a  world  of  her  own.  The  rapidly  disappearing  fleet 
was  blurred  to  her  vision,  but  she  could  still  see  the  great  light  at 
the  prow  of  the  "  Brill "  as  the  crowded  canvas  bent  and  leapt 
before  the  sudden  fury  of  the  wind. 

"  A  storm,"  she  said,  aloud — "  a  storm." 


STORMS  133 

Her  horse  moved  along  the  dunes  and  she  did  not  check 
him ;  against  the  blue-black  clouds  was  the  indistinct  figure  of 
Dorothy  Marston  on  her  little  knock-kneed  hack,  excitedly 
waving  her  handkerchief  to  the  disappearing  ships. 

Mary  passed  her  without  speaking,  then  suddenly  turned  and 
galloped  back  towards  Scheveningen,  where,  in  front  of  the 
church,  her  attendants  were  waiting  for  her ;  she  rode  in  among 
them,  and,  for  some  reason  she  could  not  have  herself  explained, 
passed  her  own  friends  and  singled  out  Lady  Sunderland. 

"  Let  us  go  home,"  she  said ;  "  it  is  going  to  be  a  stormy 
night." 

The  Countess  at  once  noticed  the  change  in  her  manner — the 
brave  calm  changed  to  piteously  controlled  trouble,  the  superb 
pride  turned  to  trembling  sorrow. 

"  Those  ships,  Highness,"  she  answered,  "  can  weather  very 
fierce  storms." 

"  Yet  a  little  accident  might  sink  them,"  returned  Mary,  in  a 
quivering  voice — "  like  hearts,  Madame,  that  are  so  hurt  with 
little  pricks  yet  will  survive  a  deep  thrust " 

She  lifted  her  beautiful  face  to  the  failing  light;  even  the 
lantern  on  the  "  Brill "  had  disappeared  now ;  the  dark  sea  was 
almost  clear  of  sail,  the  horizon  was  obscured  in  part  by  the 
passing  of  the  vanguard,  but  for  the  rest  was  silver  white,  a  line 
of  radiance  fast  being  obscured  by  the  overwhelming  threatening 
clouds. 

In  silence  Mary  turned  and  rode  back  to  The  Hague ;  the 
other  ladies  whispered  together,  but  she  said  nothing  until  they 
reached  the  '  huis  ten  bosch ' ;  then  the  rain  was  falling  in  cold 
drops  and  the  heavy  wind  was  casting  down  the  snapped  branches 
along  the  wide  bare  avenue. 

They  dismounted,  and  Mary  turned  impulsively  to  the  little 
quiet  group. 

"You  are  extraordinarily  kind  to  me,"  she  said,  "and  I  must 
thank  you  all." 

She  smiled  a  little  and  went  from  them  to  her  chamber,  and 
then  walked  straight  to  the  window  embrasure  and  stood  listening 
to  the  growing  sound  of  the  wind  that  lashed  the  darkness  with 
spreading  fury. 

She  would  not  come  down   to  supper  or  even  change  her 


134  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

clothes,  though  she  was  usually  very  careful  not  to  disturb  the 
routine  of  her  well-ordered  life ;  yet,  in  this  little  intimate  court 
where  every  one  was  her  friend,  she  felt  she  might  allow  herself 
this  solitude. 

With  the  increasing  darkness  the  storm  rose  to  fierce  height ; 
the  rain  dashed  against  the  window-pane,  making  the  glass  shiver, 
and  the  wind  was  tearing  through  the  wood  as  if  every  tree  must 
break  before  it.  Mary  took  off  her  hat  and  cloak  and  called  for 
candles ;  when  they  were  brought  she  sent  for  Lady  Sunderland. 

The  Countess  came,  looking  wan  and  old  ;  she  wore  no  rouge, 
and  the  fair,  carelessly  dressed  hair  showed  the  grey  locks  un- 
concealed. 

Mary  turned  to  her  dry-eyed. 

"  Do  you  hear  the  storm  ?  "  she  said.  She  was  seated  on  a  low 
red  stool  by  the  window  and  held  a  Prayer  Book  in  her  right  hand. 

"  My  Lady  Argyll  is  weeping  downstairs,"  said  Lady  Sunder- 
land ;  "  but  I  perceive  that  Your  Highness  hath  more  constancy." 

Mary  held  up  the  Prayer  Book. 

"I  have  been  trying  to  set  my  mind  on  this."  she  answered, 
"but  the  devil  is  busy  about  me — and  I  cann<>  iix  my  thoughts 
on  anything  but — those  ships " 

Lady  Sunderland,  who  had  made  a  great  cKi..  ith  her  devo- 
tions at  Whitehall,  with  the  sole  object  of  covering  ner  husband's 
apostasy,  but  who  had  no  real  religion,  knew  not  what  to  say. 

"  God,"  continued  the  Princess  gravely,  "  must  surely  protect 
an  enterprise  so  just,  but  since  His  ways  are  mysterious  it  might 
be  His  will  to  bring  us  to  disaster,  and,  humanly  speaking,  it  is 
a  terrible  night." 

"I  fear  they  will  be  diverted  from  their  course,"  said  the 
Countess,  "  since  faith  cannot  still  the  winds " 

Mary  rose  and  handed  her  the  Prayer  Book. 

"  I  think  we  should  pray — will  you  read  ? — I  have  had  a  course 
of  humours  in  my  eyes,  and  of  late  they  are  so  weak " 

The  Countess  took  the  book  with  shaking  fingers,  then  laid 
it  down  on  the  blue-and-white  chintz-covered  chair  beside  her. 

"  I  cannot,"  she  said  half  fiercely.     "  It  is,  Madame,  no  use." 

Mary  looked  at  her  curiously,  and  a  pause  of  silence  fell, 
during  which  the  triumphant  progress  of  the  storm  seemed  to  gather 
and  swell  abroad  like  a  trumpet  blast  without  the  dark  window. 


STORMS  135 

Presently  Mary  said  in  a  moved  and  barely  audible  voice — 

"  Madame — about  your  son — have  you  ever  thought  that  you 
would — forgive  me — but  he  was  nothing  but  pain  to  you " 

She  paused,  and  Lady  Sunderland  answered  from  a  kind  of 
self-absorption — 

"I  did  my  best.  It  all  seemeth  so  pointless  now  we  are 
ruined — I  thought  of  the  name,  but  there  is  his  brother — a  cold, 
hard  spirit  who  hath  no  kindness  for  me." 

Mary  was  looking  at  her  intently. 

"That  must  be  terrible,"  she  said,  breathing  quick.  "To 
have  children  who  love  one  not — do  you  not  think,  perhaps, 
Madame,  that  it  might  be  better — to — to  have  none  ?  " 

Suddenly  Lady  Sunderland  saw  what  she  meant,  divined  the 
desperate  appeal  for  comfort  disguised  in  the  halting  sentence. 

"I  do  think  so,  truly,  Madame,"  she  answered  instantly. 
"  My  children  have,  for  all  my  care,  been  but  discomfort  to  me." 

"  But  there  was  the  time  when  they  were  little,"  said  Mary, 
with  a  note  in  her  voice  that  caused  Lady  Sunderland  to  turn 
away  her  face.  "And  you  must  have  been  glad  of  them — I — 
ah,  I  forgot  what  I  was  saying." 

She  was  young  enough  herself  to  be  the  Countess's  daughter, 
and  that  lady  felt  a  great  desire  to  take  her  in  her  arms  and 
weep  over  her,  but  a  certain  reserve  and  majesty  about  Mary's 
very  simplicity  prevented  her  from  even  discovering  her  sympathy. 

"  It  is  very  strange  to  me  to  think  of  my  husband  abroad  in 
this  great  storm,"  said  the  Princess,  looking  up  at  the  window. 
"  I  bless  my  God  that  I  have  the  trust  to  believe  that  he  is  safe," 
she  added  quietly.  "  It  was  as  if  my  heart  was  torn  out  when  he 
left  me,  and  since  I  have  been  in  a  kind  of  numbness." 

"  It  is  hard  on  women  that  they  must  always  sit  at  home," 
remarked  the  Countess ;  she  thought  of  her  own  lord  lurking  in 
the  back  streets  of  Amsterdam ;  she  would  rather  have  been 
with  him  than  playing  her  part  at  The  Hague. 

The  wind  rose  on  a  great  shriek  that  seemed  to  rattle  every 
board  in  the  house. 

Mary  winced  back  from  the  window,  and  her  face  was  white 
even  in  the  candle  glow. 

"  Let  us  go  to  prayers,"  she  said  faintly. 


CHAPTER  XV 
THE  SECOND  SAILING 

THE  next  day  the  Prince  of  Orange  re-entered  Helvoetsluys 
attended  by  four  maimed  ships,  the  rest  having  been 
utterly  scattered  and  dispersed  by  the  fearful  storm;  he  then, 
though  giddy  and  scarce  able  to  stand  through  seasickness, 
proceeded,  with  a  serene  composure,  to  go  from  ship  to  ship 
animating  his  discomfited  followers,  and  refused  to  be  put  on 
shore,  lest  it  should  be  taken  as  a  sign  that  he  was  discouraged 
in  his  enterprise  and  intended  to  postpone  his  sailing  till  the 
spring. 

For  the  next  week  the  great  ships  of  war  with  tattered  sails 
and  broken  masts  came  creeping  out  of  the  ports  and  creeks 
where  they  had  taken  shelter  to  join  the  fleet  at  Helvoetsluys. 

Many  of  the  horses  had  been  thrown  overboard  to  save  the 
others,  and  one  transport  had  been  lost  on  the  coast  of  Ireland, 
but  there  was  no  further  damage,  and  the  Prince  by  his  great 
constancy,  enthusiasm,  spirit,  and  courage  soon  had  all  repaired 
and  made  fit,  though  he  caused  it  to  be  put  in  the  Dutch  Gazette 
that  he  was  utterly  confounded  and  his  forces  so  broken  by  the 
storm  that  he  could  not  possibly  sail  before  April,  and  copies  of 
these  Gazettes  he  saw  were  smuggled  into  England,  where  they 
were  read  by  King  James,  who  was  mightily  pleased  by  this  news — 
and  said  it  was  no  wonder  since  the  Host  had  been  exposed  a 
week,  and  thereupon  withdrew  all  the  concessions  that  the 
reported  coming  of  the  Prince  had  frightened  him  into,  and  so 
showed  plainly  that  fear  and  not  desire  had  wrung  them  from  him ; 
and  both  the  relaxing  and  the  tightening  of  his  rule  were  fatally  too 
late  for  his  fortunes,  for  men  had  no  longer  any  trust  in  his  word 
or  sincerity,  and  half  the  great  lords  were  pledged  to  the  Prince, 

and  the  greater  number  thought  there  could  be  no  salvation  save 

136 


THE  SECOND   SAILING  137 

in  his  coming,  so  gave  no  heed  to  the  actions  of  the  King, 
but  watched  the  weather-cocks  and  prayed  for  a  Protestant 
wind. 

Within  Whitehall  was  a  medley  of  priests  and  women,  mingled 
with  some  honest  gentlemen  who  really  were  loyal  to  the  King- 
ship and  the  House  of  Stewart,  and  who  were  in  no  way  listened 
to,  and  silent  courtiers  who  were  pledged  to  William,  about  the 
stern  foolish  King  who  alternated  between  weak  hesitation  and 
self-confident  obstinacy. 

Sunderland  had  kept  the  business  of  the  Kingdom  together, 
and  now  Sunderland  was  gone  everything  fell  into  bewildering 
chaos ;  the  King,  distracted  between  the  advices  of  M.  Barillon 
and  the  fears  of  Father  Petre,  the  tears  of  the  Italian  Queen  and 
the  sullen  coldness  of  his  nobles,  bitterly  regretted  Sunderland, 
whose  intrigues  he  had  not  as  yet  any  glimpse  of.  There  was  a 
fine  fleet  the  King  might  have  relied  on,  and  the  Admiral,  Lord 
Dartmouth,  was  loyal  enough,  but  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  son  of 
the  late  King,  and  a  rude  handsome  rake,  went  down  privately 
to  Plymouth  and  extorted  a  secret  promise  from  most  of  the 
Captains  that  they  would  not  fight  for  a  Catholic  King  against  a 
Protestant  Prince. 

The  Army  was  gathered  on  Hounslow  Heath  with  the  object 
of  overawing  the  capital,  and  the  advice  of  those  spirited  gentle- 
men who  were  truly  desirous  to  see  the  King  retain  his  dignities 
was  that  he  should  put  himself  at  the  head  of  it  and  so  advance 
to  meet  the  invader. 

But  the  spirit  that  had  inspired  James  when  he  was  rowed 
with  his  flag  through  the  fires  of  Solebay  had  long  left  him ;  his 
courage  had  been  the  mere  flash  of  youth  and  noble  blood ;  he 
was  old  now,  and  his  soul  sank  before  danger ;  the  terrors  of  his 
father's  fate,  the  miseries  of  his  own  exiled  youth,  came  upon  him 
with  horrible  vividness ;  he  let  disasters  crowd  down  upon  him, 
and  clung  to  his  priests  and  his  faith  with  the  despair  of  stupidity. 

Meanwhile  the  Prince  of  Orange,  having  taken  a  second  leave 
of  his  wife  and  the  States,  sailed  with  great  pomp,  the  sound  of 
trumpets,  the  flutter  of  flags,  and  the  discharge  of  artillery,  from 
Helvoet,  having  been  but  eleven  days  repairing  his  ships,  re- 
placing his  horses,  and  reassembling  his  fleet,  and  having,  by  the 
serenity  of  his  behaviour,  the  unfaltering  decision  of  his  actions, 


138  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

the  wisdom  of  his  proposals,  snatched  glory  from  disappointment, 
as  was  ever  the  way  of  this  Prince. 

The  little  advice  packets  that  darted  out  from  the  coast  of 
England  to  watch  his  movements  reported  that  he  was  making 
for  the  north,  in  which  direction,  with  a  brisk  gale  in  his  sails,  he 
indeed  steered  for  twelve  hours ;  but  when  the  night  fell  and  the 
advice  packets  had  hastened  home  with  news,  the  Prince  signalled 
to  his  fleet  to  tack  about,  which  it  did,  and,  with  all  the  sail  it 
could  spread,  put  before  the  wind  to  the  westward,  and  under  a 
fair  sky  bore  for  the  coasts  of  Devon. 

This  ruse  had  its  full  effect,  for  Lord  Feversham,  who 
commanded  the  English  troops,  was  bid  march  northwards,  and 
all  the  cattle  were  ordered  to  be  driven  from  the  coasts  of 
Yorkshire. 

With  the  next  dawn  the  Dutch  van  made  the  Channel,  along 
which  it  stretched  for  twenty  miles  in  full  view  of  England  and 
France,  the  shores  of  both  these  countries  being  covered  with 
spectators  who  viewed  a  sight  such  as  had  not  been  seen  in  these 
waters  since  the  great  Armada  crossed  the  seas,  a  hundred  years 
before. 

The  magnificence  of  this  procession  of  mighty  ships,  which 
took  seven  hours  to  pass,  going  at  their  full  speed  before  a 
strong  east  wind,  the  strength  and  purpose  that  they  symbolized, 
the  power  of  the  Religion,  once  despised  and  oppressed,  but 
that  now  was  able  to  split  the  world  into  factions,  whose  name 
showed  beneath  the  arms  of  Orange,  that  family  which  of 
all  others  had  been  most  distinguished  in  the  defence  of 
liberty,  the  sheer  pomp  of  war  in  the  great  vessels  with  their 
guns,  flags,  and  netting,  their  attendant  ships  and  companies 
of  soldiers  on  board,  the  prestige  of  the  man  who  led  this  daring 
expedition,  all  combined  to  thrill  the  hearts  of  those  who 
watched,  whether  on  the  French  or  English  coasts,  whether 
they  uttered  curses  or  blessings,  prayers  for  failure  or  success. 

About  noon,  they  then  being  in  Calais  roads,  the  Prince 
gave  orders  to  lay  by,  both  to  call  a  council  of  war  and  to 
strike  terror  into  the  two  watching  nations  by  displaying  his 
strength  in  this  narrow  sea. 

Accordingly  he  himself  changed  to  the  foremost  vessel, 
taking  with  him  his  own  standard,  and  there  waited  for  the 


THE  SECOND  SAILING  139 

rest  of  the  armament  to  come  up,  which  they  presently  did, 
and  formed  into  one  body,  sixteen  ships  square,  only  a  league 
at  each  side,  from  either  shore,  and  when  they  were  drawn  up, 
the  Prince,  from  that  ship  which  was  nearest  the  English  coast, 
signalled  that  the  two  famous  forts  of  Calais  and  Dover  were 
to  be  saluted,  which  was  done  at  the  same  moment  with  great 
thunder  of  the  deep-mouthed  artillery,  which  was  an  astonishing 
spectacle  that  there  should  be  in  Dover  Straits  a  fleet  so  huge 
that  it  could  salute  these  two  forts  at  the  same  time  and  be 
but  a  league  from  either.  There  was  something  awful  in  the 
sound  of  this  warlike  courtesy,  to  the  ears  of  both  nations, 
and  some  awe  and  terror  mingled  with  their  admiration  as  the 
smoke  obscured  the  green  dancing  waves. 

From  Dover  Castle  there  was  no  reply,  the  doubt  of  England 
being  expressed  in  this  silence ;  but  from  Calais  came  a  proud 
answering  salute  as  from  a  mighty  foe  who  honours  himself 
by  the  formalities  of  respect  to  his  adversary,  and  the  Prince 
standing  on  the  upper  deck  amid  the  slow-clearing  gunpowder 
vapour  flushed  to  hear  again  the  French  guns  who  had  last 
spoken  to  him  among  the  heights  of  St.  Denis,  ten  years 
ago. 

At  the  council  of  war  now  held  it  was  decided  that  the 
disposition  of  the  fleet  should  be  changed,  for  news  had  come 
that  the  English,  who  lay  at  the  Gunfleet,  were  making  full 
endeavours  to  overtake  and  fight  the  Dutch,  for  though  Lord 
Dartmouth  knew  that  half  his  officers  were  pledged  to  the 
Prince,  and  his  men  very  doubtful  of  engaging  in  the  cause 
of  the  King,  yet  he  resolved  to  use  his  utmost  powers  to 
prevent  the  landing  of  His  Highness,  for  he  was  under  personal 
obligations  to  James,  who  had  always  treated  him  more  as 
a  friend  than  a  subject,  and  was  filled  with  an  honourable 
desire  to  serve  His  Majesty  in  this  crisis. 

The  Prince,  knowing  this  from  my  Lord  Grafton,  was  eager 
to  avoid  a  conflict,  for  however  well  disposed  the  English  sailors 
might  be  to  his  religion  and  person,  he  wisely  suspected  that 
a  nation  so  proud,  and  in  particular  so  jealous  of  their  prestige 
on  the  sea,  would,  when  faced  in  order  of  battle  with  those 
people  whom  they  had  so  often  and  so  recently  fought,  forget 
everything  save  the  desire  to  achieve  a  victory  over  that 


140  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

Republic  which   alone   disputed  with   them   the  over-lordship 
of  the  ocean. 

For  this  reason  His  Highness  had  given  Admiral  Herbert 
the  command  of  his  armament,  that  the  English  might  salve 
their  arrogance  by  the  thought  that  an  Englishman  led  this 
invading  force;  yet  he  secretly  believed  that  the  names  of 
Herbert  and  Russell  would  not  prove  so  potent  a  motive  for 
peace,  as  the  sight  of  the  foreign  flags,  jacks,  and  haughty  ships 
would  prove  an  incentive  to  rage  in  the  bosoms  of  the  British, 
who  could  endure,  it  seemed,  any  hardship  but  the  idea  of 
foreign  dominion. 

Therefore  it  was  decided  that  the  Prince  and  the  transports 
with  the  troops  should  continue  to  lead  the  van  with  three 
ships  of  war  to  guard  him,  and  so,  sailing  down  the  Channel, 
make  the  coast  of  England,  in  the  west,  and  that  the  bulk 
of  the  fleet  should  remain  in  the  van  ready  to  engage  the 
English  should  they  leave  their  station  and  venture  into  the 
open  straits. 

But  this,  though  it  was  the  thing  he  most  longed  to 
accomplish,  Lord  Dartmouth  found  impossible,  for  that  east 
wind  so  favourable  to  the  hopes  of  the  Prince  was  a  tyrant 
to  him  and  held  him  helpless  abreast  of  the  Long  Sands, 
with  his  yards  and  topmasts  down  incapable  of  purchasing  his 
anchors,  while  he  beheld  some  of  the  Dutch  vessels  pass  within 
his  very  sight  making  triumphantly  for  the  coast  he  was  bidden 
protect  while  his  ships  rode  at  their  station  useless  as  a 
fishing  fleet. 

And  this  was  in  some  part  the  fault  of  my  Lord  Dartmouth, 
who  cursed  the  wind  in  a  passion  of  misery,  for  he  had  ignored 
the  advice  of  His  Majesty,  who  was  a  knowing  man  in  naval 
affairs,  which  was  to  anchor  east  of  the  Gallopper,  so  that  his 
ships  might  be  free  to  move  which  way  they  pleased,  instead 
of  which  he  acted  on  his  own  sense,  which  was  not  equal 
to  the  King's  advice ;  as  was  proved,  for  the  scouts,  who  were 
left  at  the  Gallopper,  captured  a  Dutch  transport,  and  if  they 
had  been  greater  in  strength  might  have  served  the  whole 
body  of  the  invader  the  same. 

Now  in  full  sight  of  the  shores  of  these  two  countries, 
England  and  France,  the  Dutch  fleet  performed  their  evolutions, 


THE  SECOND  SAILING  141 

with  the  pomp  of  war,  the  discharge  of  artillery,  the  music  of 
trumpets  and  drums,  and  the  salutes  of  the  entire  armament 
to  the  ship  which  carried  the  Prince  and  his  standard  as  she 
made  her  way  to  the  van;  and  this  all  under  a  blue  sky 
crystal-clear  that  reflected  in  the  tumbling  waves  lashed  by 
the  strong  high  English  wind  a  hundred  tints  of  azure  and 
water-green,  above  which  the  smoke  hung  in  light  vapours. 

The  Prince,  under  full  sail,  made  for  Torbay,  which  was 
large  enough  to  contain  a  great  number  of  the  transports,  but 
the  Dutch  pilot,  not  being  just  in  his  reckoning,  went  past 
both  that  port  and  the  next,  which  was  Dartmouth.  The  third 
port  was  Plymouth,  but  this  being  a  naval  station  and  a  well- 
fortified  place,  the  Prince  was  by  no  means  inclined  to  risk 
a  landing  there,  since  he  was  not  certain  of  the  disposition  of 
the  inhabitants  towards  him,  and  his  great  object  on  land,  as 
on  sea,  was  to  avoid  a  combat,  since  his  sole  argument  for 
Interfering  in  the  affairs  of  England  was  the  wish  of  the 
English  themselves  and  the  invitation  of  their  principal  nobles, 
as  he  had  acknowledged  in  his  Declaration,  and  it  would  give 
a  very  ill  look  to  this  claim  of  his  if  his  landing  was  opposed 
by  a  bloody  fight. 

Yet  to  tack  about  to  enter  Torbay  was  attended  by  almost 
equal  danger,  since  the  wind  had  changed,  and  Lord  Dartmouth 
with  his  entire  fleet  had  left  Long  Sands  and  was  now  under 
full  sail  in  pursuit. 

The  Prince,  distracted  by  these  conflicting  considerations, 
knew  not  what  course  to  take,  and  was  tortured  by  the  most 
cruel  anxiety,  since  to  either  advance  or  retire  might  be  followed 
by  misfortunes  fatal  to  his  whole  design. 

While  he  was  still  undecided  as  to  what  orders  to  give 
and  which  risks  to  choose,  the  wind  changed  in  an  instant  to 
the  south,  which  had  the  effect  of  bringing  the  Prince  within 
a  few  hours  into  Torbay  and  forcing  the  English  Admiral  back 
to  Long  Sands. 

It  being  the  4th  of  November  when  the  Prince  saw  the 
cliffs  of  Devon  and  the  great  natural  harbour  overlooked  by 
the  tourelles  and  towers  of  Brixham  and  Torquay,  he  was 
anxious  to  effect  a  landing  there,  because  it  was  both  his 
birthday  and  the  anniversary  of  his  marriage,  and  so  he  put 


142  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

off  in  a  cock  boat  with  a  few  of  the  English  nobles  and  M. 
Bentinck,  and  came  ashore  at  Brixham,  where  there  were  none 
but  fishermen  to  receive  him,  the  which  stood  about  staring 
half  in  admiration,  half  in  awe,  thinking  maybe  of  Monmouth's 
landing  not  so  far  off  nor  so  long  ago,  and  how  the  county  had 
suffered  for  it  under  the  executions  of  my  Lord  Chief  Justice. 

The  Prince  called  for  horses,  which  were  being  put  ashore 
as  fast  as  might  be  where  the  water  was  shallower;  yet  it  was 
not  possible  to  make  the  landing  effectual  till  the  morrow,  and 
but  few  of  the  transports  were  able  to  land  that  night. 

The  Prince,  who  had  well  studied  the  map  of  England, 
resolved  to  march  to  Exeter  and  there  wait  the  coming  of  his 
English  friends;  but  for  this  night  the  wooden  tent  that  he 
used  in  war  was  put  up  in  a  neighbouring  field,  to  the  great 
amazement  of  the  country-folk,  who  had  never  beheld  anything 
of  this  nature. 

The  friends  and  followers  of  the  Prince  being  gathered  about 
him  to  congratulate  and  flatter,  among  them  came  his  chaplain, 
Dr.  Burnet,  expounding  in  his  usual  talkative  excitement  on  the 
marvellous  success  of  the  expedition. 

The  Prince  was  more  than  ordinarily  cheerful,  and  spared  the 
rebuke  with  which  he  usually  checked  the  meddling  enthusiast. 

He  gave  the  Englishman  his  hand,  and  looking  round  the 
darkening  landscape  said,  with  a  smile — 

"Well,  doctor,  what  do  you  think  of  predestination  now?" 


CHAPTER  XVI 
NEWS  FROM  ENGLAND 

THE  weeks  that  followed,  so  full  of  great  events,  passions, 
movements,  and  suspenses  in  Britain,  passed  with  an 
almost  uneventful  calm  in  The  Hague,  where  the  Princess,  round 
whose  rights  half  the  turmoil  had  arisen,  and  the  wives  of  many 
eminent  men  engaged  in,  or  affected  by,  the  rapid  changing  of 
events,  waited  for  the  packets  that  brought  the  English  letters, 
and  lived  in  between  their  coming  in  a  kind  of  retired  anxiety 
supported  by  prayers  and  saddened  by  tears. 

The  Elector  of  Brandenburg  and  his  wife  came  on  a  visit  to 
Mary,  and  she  entertained  them  as  best  she  might  with  her  heart 
aching  with  other  thoughts.  They  went,  and  she  was  alone  again 
and  free  to  go  to  and  from  her  chapel  and  wait  for  her  letters 
and  wonder  and  dread  the  future  through  the  cold  winter  days  in 
the  quiet  town,  which  seemed,  as  she  was,  to  be  waiting  with 
suspended  breath. 

The  progress  of  affairs  in  England  came  brokenly  and  from 
various  sources,  letters  arrived  slowly,  at  irregular  intervals, 
delayed  by  ice-blocked  rivers,  storms  at  sea,  detained  messengers. 
At  first  the  news  was  of  the  Prince's  progress  to  Exeter  and  the 
cold  reception  of  that  city,  the  long  delay  of  his  friends  to  join 
him,  the  mere  wondering  apathy  of  the  country-people,  who  made 
no  movement  one  way  or  another,  save  to  make  a  spectacle  of 
the  passing  of  this  foreign  army  and  to  petition  the  Prince  that 
he  would,  when  he  could,  remove  the  hearth  tax. 

The  next  news  was  that  when  the  Prince  was  near  resolved 
to  return  home  the  spirited  English  gentry  began  to  rise  in  his 
favour,  the  Lord  Wharton  and  the  Lord  Colchester  marched 
from  Oxford  to  join  him,  and  my  Lord  Lovelace  broke  through 

the  militia,  and  though  arrested  once  and  taken  to  Gloucester, 

143 


144  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

yet  forced  out  of  prison,  and  with  the  help  of  some  young  gentle- 
men who  had  taken  up  arms  for  the  Prince,  drove  all  the  Papists 
out  of  that  city,  and  so  joined  His  Highness  at  Exeter ;  soon 
after  the  Lord  Delamere  came  from  Nottingham  and  took 
Chester,  which,  under  a  Papist,  Lord  Molineux,  held  out  for  the 
King,  and  my  Lord  Danby  rose  up  in  the  North,  and  with  other 
persons  of  quality  seized  on  the  city  of  York  and  turned  out  the 
Papists  and  clapt  up  the  Mayor,  while  Colonel  Copley,  with  the 
aid  of  some  seamen,  seized  Hull  and  the  powder  magazine,  and 
the  Earl  of  Bath  took  Plymouth  from  the  Earl  of  Huntingdon 
and  declared  for  the  Prince,  as  did  all  the  seaport  towns  in 
Cornwall. 

At  which,  the  news  ran,  the  King  went  to  join  his  army  at 
Salisbury,  having  sent  the  Prince  of  Wales  to  Portsmouth,  but 
afterwards  returned  to  Windsor  upon  an  alarm  of  the  approach 
of  M.  de  Schomberg,  and  so  to  London,  where  he  found  his 
favourite,  Lord  Churchill,  his  son-in-law,  Prince  George,  and  his 
daughter,  Anne,  had  fled  to  the  Prince  of  Orange,  attended  by  the 
suspended  Bishop  of  London,  who  had  signed  the  invitation  to 
His  Highness.  Then  followed  news  of  the  skirmish  at  Wincanton, 
where  some  of  the  Prince's  guards  under  Lieutenant  Campbell 
were  put  to  the  rout  by  the  King's  men,  commanded  by  that 
gallant  Irishman,  Patrick  Sarsfield ;  soon  the  fleet,  growing  cold 
in  the  service  of  His  Majesty,  sent  up  an  address  for  a  free 
parliament  and  the  army  deserted  by  the  regiment. 

Now  the  King  took  out  of  the  Tower  Sir  Bevil  Skelton,  late 
ambassador  to  Versailles,  cast  there  for  the  move  he  had  con- 
certed with  M.  D'Avaux,  which  if  truly  followed  had  saved  the 
King,  as  he  now  came  to  say,  and  so  made  Sir  Bevil  governor  of 
the  Tower  and  Master  of  the  Keys  of  the  Kingdom. 

After  which  he  went  to  Hungerford  in  great  despair  of  mind, 
where,  advised  by  the  Queen  and  the  Jesuits,  he  sent  overtures 
to  the  Prince,  offering  to  defer  all  grievances  to  the  calling  of  a 
free  parliament,  the  writs  for  which  the  Lord  Chancellor  Jefferies 
had  already  been  bid  to  issue. 

The  Lords  Halifax,  Nottingham,  and  Godolphin,  having 
taken  this  message,  brought  back  an  answer  which  was  the  best 
the  King  could  have  hoped  for,  since  it  made  only  those  demands 
which  were  reasonable,  such  as  that  the  Papists  should  be 


NEWS  FROM   ENGLAND  145 

removed  from  office  and  that  Tilbury  Fort  and  the  Tower  of 
London  should  be  put  into  the  hands  of  the  Capital. 

But  when  they  returned  with  these  terms  to  Whitehall,  the 
commissioners  found  that  the  King,  either  through  fearfulness 
or  weakness,  or  wrought  on  by  the  advices  of  M.  Barillon,  had 
taken  the  extraordinary  resolutions — first,  of  sending  his  wife  and 
son  to  France,  and  secondly,  of  flying  London  himself,  leaving 
the  government  in  chaos.  Upon  which  these  three  lords,  perceiv- 
ing they  had  been  sent  on  a  mock  embassy,  became  for  ever 
incensed  against  His  Majesty.  He  left  a  letter  for  the  com- 
mander of  the  army,  a  Frenchman,  Lord  Feversham,  which  that 
general  took  to  be  an  order  for  the  disbanding  of  the  forces, 
which  finally  put  everything  into  the  greatest  disorder. 

The  next  letters  that  came  to  The  Hague  were  full  of  the 
Prince's  success  against  the  Irish  Guards  at  Twyford  Bridge,  out- 
side the  town  of  Reading,  and  the  behaviour  of  the  multitude  in 
London,  who,  as  soon  as  they  heard  of  the  departure  of  the 
King  and  the  Jesuits,  and  the  near  approach  of  the  Prince  of 
Orange,  got  together  and  demolished  all  the  new  mass  chapels 
and  convents ;  among  which  was  the  great  monastery  of  St.  John, 
which  had  been  two  years  building  at  a  great  expense,  but  was 
now  burnt  down  and  the  goods  seized  as  the  monks  were 
hurriedly  removing,  besides  all  the  timber  stored  in  Smithfield  for 
the  finishing,  which  was  stacked  into  a  bonfire  and  burnt  at 
Holborn  by  the  river  Fleet. 

Likewise  the  chapels  in  Lime  Street  and  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields, 
the  lodgings  of  the  resident  of  the  Duke  of  Florence,  and  Wild 
House,  which  was  the  mansion  of  the  Spanish  Ambassador,  were 
spoiled  and  defaced;  yet  to  the  great  credit  of  the  English 
people,  in  all  this  heat  and  excitement,  there  was  not  one  slain 
or  even  hurt. 

To  put  a  stop  to  these  mischiefs,  the  lords  who  were  then 
in  London  went  to  the  Guildhall  and,  having  demanded  the  keys 
of  the  Tower  from  Sir  Bevil  Skelton  and  delivered  them  to  the 
Lord  Lucas,  they  took  upon  themselves  the  governance  of  the 
kingdom  for  the  maintenance  of  order  and  the  prevention  of 
bloodshed.  At  first  they  associated  with  themselves  the  magis- 
trates of  the  city,  but  on  finding  that  those  who  are  born 
traders  cannot  contest  with  gentlemen  in  great  affairs,  they  used 
10 


146  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

them  not  as  their  colleagues  but  as  their  servants,  and  gave  their 
orders  as  the  King  had  done. 

Soon  after  they  invited  the  Prince,  who  was  now  at  Windsor, 
to  London,  and  the  same  day  that  he  received  their  address  he 
was  presented  with  another  to  the  same  effect  from  the  City  of 
London,  which  he  accepted  with  more  pleasure,  and  let  it  be 
seen  that  he  did ;  for  his  titles  and  encouragements  had  always 
come  from  the  people,  and  his  enemies  from  the  nobles,  both  in 
his  own  country  and  England. 

To  the  anxious  hearts  at  The  Hague  all  seemed  now  clear  for 
a  peaceful  conclusion,  when  the  news  came  that  the  King,  having 
by  foul  weather  been  cast  upon  the  coast  of  Kent,  was  there 
stopped  and  roughly  handled  by  several  of  the  common  people 
who  knew  him  not. 

When  the  governing  lords  heard  of  this  they  sent  an  express 
begging  His  Majesty  to  return  to  London,  which  he  did  after 
some  difficulty,  and  on  Sunday,  being  the  i6th  of  December, 
entered  the  capital,  attended  by  some  troops  of  the  Life  Guards 
and  Grenadiers  ;  and  a  set  of  boys  following  him  with  cheers  put 
up  his  spirits  so  that  he  thought  he  had  the  people  with  him 
again. 

At  this  juncture  he  sent  the  Lord  Feversham  to  His  Highness 
at  Windsor,  asking  him  to  come  to  St.  James's  and  settle  matters ; 
but  His  Highness  had  by  now  perceived  that  no  settlement  of 
any  difficulty  could  be  arrived  at  while  this  obstinate,  foolish,  and 
fearful  King  remained  in  London,  and,  having  discovered  that  His 
Majesty  had  no  courage  to  resist  authority,  he  took  a  high  hand, 
arrested  the  Lord  Feversham  for  travelling  without  a  passport, 
and  sent  three  lords  to  Whitehall  with  a  message  desiring  the 
King  to  retire  to  Ham,  having  first  secured  all  the  posts  and 
avenues  about  Whitehall  by  replacing  the  English  guards  by 
Dutch.  On  receipt  of  the  message  the  King  instantly  agreed, 
only  asking  that  it  might  be  Rochester  and  not  Ham,  which 
desire  was  communicated  to  the  Prince  by  messenger  (His 
Highness  being  then  at  Zion  House).  He  sent  an  answer  by 
M.  Bentinck  that  he  gave  his  consent,  only  adding  that  he 
wished  His  Majesty  to  leave  early  that  he  might  not  meet  him 
on  the  road. 

So  the  King,  having  with  him  the  Earl  of  Arran  and  a  few 


NEWS  FROM  ENGLAND  147 

other  gentlemen,  went  by  barge  to  Gravesend  and  so  overland 
to  Rochester,  where  he  lay  in  the  house  of  Sir  Richard  Head. 

The  afternoon  of  this  day  on  which  the  King  left  London  for 
ever,  the  Prince  and  his  retinue  came  to  St.  James's,  the  whole 
city  shouting  and  blazing  in  his  honour.  But  having  always 
hated  these  displays,  and  despising  the  levity  that  prompted  them, 
he  drove  by  a  back  way  to  the  Palace,  and  the  people  got  no 
sight  of  him.  All  the  persons  of  quality  in  town  now  flocked  to 
offer  their  congratulations,  and  the  city  sent  up  a  most  obliging 
address  which  His  Highness  very  cordially  received ;  soon  the 
lords  and  the  city  requested  the  Prince  to  take  the  government 
on  himself,  which  he  did,  his  first  act  being  one  which  gave 
him  peculiar  satisfaction — he  ordered  M.  Barillon  to  leave  the 
kingdom  in  twenty-four  hours,  and  had  him  escorted  to  the 
coast  by  Dutch  guards,  which  was  a  severe  knock  to  the  pride 
of  France. 

As  to  the  affairs  of  the  kingdom,  he  ordered  writs  to  be 
issued  for  the  calling  of  a  Convention,  which  was  to  consist 
of  all  persons  who  had  sat  in  parliament  during  the  reign  of 
His  Majesty  Charles  n. 

All  this  was  great  and  triumphant  news  to  the  States  and 
the  Princess.  The  nobility  then  at  The  Hague  came  to  com- 
pliment Her  Highness,  and  three  deputies  were  sent  from  the 
States-General  to  congratulate  the  Prince,  and  were  magnificently 
received  by  the  English. 

The  Prince  then  commanded  all  Papists  to  depart  out  of 
London  and  Westminster  within  three  days,  and  to  engage 
the  city  in  his  interest  he  asked  them  for  a  loan,  and  though 
the  security  was  but  his  bare  word  and  the  sum  he  asked  but 
a  hundred  thousand,  they  subscribed  three  hundred  thousand 
and  paid  it  in,  in  so  many  days. 

His  Highness  being  gone  to  Windsor  so  as  not  to  prejudice 
the  meeting  of  the  Convention,  that  body  came  together  on 
the  22nd  of  January,  and  after  having  humbly  thanked  His 
Highness  for  their  deliverance,  prayed  him  to  continue  to 
administer  the  government,  and  appointed  a  day  of  thanksgiving, 
fell  to  considering  what  course  they  should  take. 

With  comparative  ease  they  declared  the  throne  vacant  by 
the  flight  of  the  King,  but  were  not  so  quick  in  deciding  who 


148  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

should  fill  it.  The  Prince  meanwhile  kept  silence,  observing  the 
same  composure  that  he  had  maintained  during  the  whole 
progress  of  the  Revolution,  even  hunting,  staying  at  private 
houses,  and  keeping  out  of  the  capital ;  only  sending  one  brief 
letter  to  the  Convention,  in  which  he  prayed  them  to  come  quickly 
to  a  decision,  as  there  was  the  safety  of  Europe  to  consider. 

Despite  this  withdrawal  of  himself,  this  calm  that  he  displayed 
in  the  midst  of  the  turmoil,  he  was  the  pivot  round  which  all 
circled,  the  one  authority  respected  by  all,  the  one  defence 
against  anarchy  and  mischievous  confusion. 

The  English,  who  knew  in  their  hearts  that  they  could  not 
do  without  him,  could  by  no  means  make  up  their  minds  what 
to  do  with  him,  and  soon,  after  their  custom,  split  into  very 
decided  parties,  which  were  most  violent  against  each  other  and 
got  every  day  farther  from  a  settlement. 

At  this  time  the  news  that  reached  The  Hague  was  most 
astonishing,  and  very  unwelcome  to  the  Princess ;  this  was  the 
manner  of  her  receiving  it.  One  day,  very  cold,  in  late  January, 
she  was  riding  in  her  chariot  in  the  Voorhout,  reflecting  on  this 
extraordinary  revolution  in  her  native  country,  and  thinking  of 
her  father  (who  was  now  fled  to  France),  when  she  was  accosted 
by  M.  D'Avaux,  who  still  remained  at  The  Hague. 

The  Princess  was  much  surprised  by  this,  and  was  giving 
a  mere  formal  salute,  when  M.  D'Avaux,  with  his  hat  clasped 
to  his  bosom,  galloped  up  to  her  open  chariot  in  such  a  manner 
that  she  could  do  nothing  but  desire  it  to  stop. 

"  Ah,  Madame,"  said  he,  smiling,  and  very  courteous,  "  am 
I  to  condole  with  the  daughter  of  King  James  or  congratulate 
the  wife  of  the  Prince  of  Orange?  " 

She  looked  at  him,  very  pale,  but  with  a  great  majesty. 
"  You  are  to  respect  a  woman  in  an  extraordinary  and  sad 
situation,  Monsieur,"  she  answered  gravely. 

"  Extraordinary  indeed,  Your  Highness,"  said  M.  D'Avaux. 
"  But  scarcely  sad  to  you,  I  think,  who  are  like  to  be  Queen." 

It  flashed  through  Mary's  mind  how  near  to  war  they  must 
be  with  France  before  he  could  venture  to  speak  so. 
She  answered  instantly — 

"  I  take  no  public  reprimand  from  the  Ambassador  of  France, 
Monsieur." 


NEWS  FROM   ENGLAND  149 

M.  D'Avaux  bowed. 

"More  a  congratulation,  Highness,  to  the  future  sovereign 
of  England." 

Her  look  of  amaze  was  not  to  be  concealed.  His  keen  eyes, 
that  never  left  her  face,  remarked  it. 

"Ah,  Your  Highness  hath  not  heard  the  last  news  from 
England  ?  "  he  asked  quietly. 

"  News  from  England ! "  repeated  Mary,  "  I  hear  nothing 
else " 

"Then  you  will  have  heard  that  the  Convention  is  for 
making  you  Queen,  Madame,"  he  answered,  "which  perhaps 
is  not  quite  the  consummation  His  Highness  desired." 

Mary  gazed  at  him  a  second,  then  made  a  motion  with  her 
gloved  hand  to  the  coachman. 

"It  is  cold  to  keep  the  horses  waiting,"  she  said,  and  so 
drove  on. 

Cold  indeed,  and  the  snow  beginning  to  fall  in  heavy  flakes 
across  the  straight  fronts  of  the  noble  houses  in  the  Voorhout ; 
the  people  of  quality  gathered  there  on  horseback  and  on  foot 
began  to  scatter  before  the  chilly  wind  and  slow  darkness.  The 
Princess  shuddered  inside  her  fur  coat,  and  drove  back  to  the 
'huis  ten  bosch.' 

As  she  passed  down  the  gaunt  avenues  of  bare  trees  over- 
shadowing frozen  water  and  frozen  ground,  showing  between 
their  dark  trunks  glimpses  of  a  pale  February  sunset  fast  being 
blotted  out  by  the  thick  snow  clouds,  she  felt  to  her  very  heart 
the  awful  desolation  of  approaching  change,  the  wild  regret  for 
a  happy  period  closed,  the  unnameable  loneliness  which  assailed 
her  when  she  considered  how  she  was  being  caught  up  and 
hurried  into  a  whirl  of  events  foreign  and  distasteful. 

When  she  reached  home  she  asked  for  her  letters;  but 
evidently  the  packet  that  had  brought  M.  D'Avaux  his  had 
none  for  her.  She  made  no  comment,  but  played  basset  awhile 
with  Lady  Sunderland,  went  early  to  her  prayers,  then  wept 
herself  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
FAREWELL  TO  HOLLAND 

SOON  after  the  Groote  Kerk  had  struck  midnight,  one  of 
the  Princess's  Dutch  ladies  came  to  the  chamber  of  her 
mistress  with  the  news  that  letters  from  England  had  come,  it 
being  the  command  of  Mary  that  she  should  always  be  roused, 
whatever  the  hour,  when  the  mail  arrived. 

She  came  out  now,  in  her  undress — a  muslin  nightshift  with 
an  overgown  of  laycock,  and  with  her  hair,  which  was  one  of 
her  principal  beauties,  freed  from  the  stiff  dressing  of  the  day 
and  hanging  about  her  shoulders — into  the  little  anteroom  of 
her  bedchamber,  where  the  candles  had  been  hastily  lit  and  the 
tiled  stove  that  burnt  day  and  night  stirred  and  replenished. 

There  were  two  letters.  She  had  no  eyes  save  for  that 
addressed  in  the  large  careless  hand  of  the  Prince,  and  tore 
it  open  standing  under  the  branched  sconce,  where  the  newly- 
lit  candles  gave  a  yet  feeble  light  from  hard  wax  and  stiff  wick, 
while  the  Dutch  lady,  excited  and  silent,  opened  the  front  ot 
the  stove  and  poked  the  bright  coals. 

The  Princess,  who  had  waited  long  for  this  letter,  owing 
to  the  ice-blocked  river,  was  sharply  disappointed  at  the 
briefness  of  it ;  the  Prince  requested  her  to  make  ready  to  come 
at  once  to  England,  as  her  presence  was  desired  by  the  Con- 
vention, told  her  what  to  say  to  the  States,  and  remarked  that 
the  hunting  at  Windsor  was  poor  indeed  compared  to  that  of 
Guelders. 

Mary  laid  the  letter  down. 

"I  must  go  to  England,  Wendela,"  she  said  to  her  lady; 
then  sat  silent  a  little,  while  the  candles  burnt  up  to  a  steady 
glow  that  filled  the  room  with  a  fluttering  light  of  gold. 

"  Is  my  Lady  Sunderland  abed  ?  "  asked  Mary  presently. 


FAREWELL  TO  HOLLAND  151 

"  No,  Madame ;  she  was  playing  cards  when  I  came  up." 

"Will  you  send  her  to  me,  Wendela?" 

The  lady  left  the  room  and  Mary  noticed  the  other  letter, 
which  she  had  completely  forgotten.  She  took  it  up  and 
observed  that  the  writing  was  strange ;  she  broke  the  seals  and 
drew  nearer  the  candles,  for  her  eyes,  never  strong,  were  now 
blurred  by  recent  tears. 

The  first  words,  after  the  preamble  of  compliments,  took 
her  with  amazement.  She  glanced  quickly  to  the  signature, 
which  was  that  of  Lord  Danby,  then  read  the  letter  word  for 
word,  while  her  colour  rose  and  her  breath  came  sharply. 

When  she  had  finished,  with  an  involuntary  passionate 
gesture  and  an  involuntary  passionate  exclamation,  she  dashed 
the  letter  down  on  the  lacquer  bureau. 

Lady  Sunderland,  at  this  moment  entering,  beheld  an 
expression  on  the  face  of  the  Princess  which  she  had  never 
thought  to  see  there — an  expression  of  sparkling  anger. 

"  111  news  from  England,  Highness  ?  "  she  asked  swiftly. 

"The  worst  news  in  the  world  for  me,"  answered  Mary. 
Then  she  cried,  "  This  is  what  M.  D'Avaux  meant ! " 

The  Countess  raised  her  beautiful  eyes.  She  was  very  fair  in 
rose-pink  silk  and  lace,  her  appearance  gave  no  indication  of 
misfortune,  but  in  her  heart  was  always  the  sharp  knowledge 
that  she  was  an  exile  playing  a  game,  the  stake  of  which  was  the 
greatness,  perhaps  the  life,  of  her  husband. 

"  What  news,  Highness  ?  "  she  questioned  gently. 

Mary  was  too  inflamed  to  be  reserved,  and,  despite  the  vast 
difference  in  their  natures,  a  great  closeness  had  sprung  up 
between  her  and  the  Countess  during  these  weeks  of  waiting. 

"  They  wish  to  make  me  Queen,"  she  said,  with  quivering 
lips,  "  to  the  exclusion  of  the  Prince.  My  Lord  Danby,  whom  I 
never  liked,  is  leading  a  party  in  the  Convention,  and  he  saith 
will  have  his  way " 

Lady  Sunderland  was  startled. 

"What  doth  His  Highness  say?" 

"Nothing  of  that  matter — how  should  he?  But  he  would 
never  take  that  place  that  would  be  dependent  on  my  courtesy — 
he  ! "  She  laughed  hysterically.  "  What  doth  my  lord  mean  ? — 
what  can  he  think  of  me?  I,  Queen,  and  the  Prince  over- 


i$2  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

looked  ? — am  I  not  his  wife  ?  And  they  know  my  mind.  I  told 
Dr.  Burnet,  when  he  meddled  in  this  matter,  that  I  had  sworn 
obedience  to  the  Prince  and  meant  to  keep  those  vows " 

She  paused,  breathless  and  very  angry ;  her  usual  vivacity  had 
changed  to  a  blazing  passion  that  reminded  Lady  Sunderland 
of  those  rare  occasions  when  His  late  Majesty  had  been  roused. 

"  My  lord  meant  to  serve  you,"  she  said. 

"  To  serve  me  ! "  repeated  Mary,  "  when  he  is  endeavouring 
to  stir  up  this  division  between  me  and  the  Prince — making  our 
interests  different " 

"  You  are  nearer  the  throne,  Highness " 

Mary  interrupted  impatiently — 

"  What  is  that  compared  to  what  the  Prince  hath  done  for 
England  ?  Can  they  think,"  she  added,  with  a  break  in  her 
voice,  "that  I  would  have  done  this — gone  against — His 
Majesty — for  a  crown — for  anything  save  my  duty  to  my 
husband?  What  must  he  think  of  me  —  these  miserable 
intrigues " 

She  flung  herself  into  the  red  brocade  chair  in  front  of  the 
cabinet,  and  caught  up  the  offending  letter. 

"  Yet,"  she  continued,  with  a  flash  of  triumph,  "  this  will  give 
me  a  chance  to  show  them — where  my  duty  lieth " 

She  took  up  her  pen,  and  Lady  Sunderland  came  quickly  to 
the  desk. 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  "  she  asked  curiously. 

"  I  shall  write  to  my  lord,  tell  him  my  deep  anger,  and  send 
his  letter  and  a  copy  of  mine  to  the  Prince." 

Lady  Sunderland  laid  her  hand  gently  on  Mary's  shoulder. 

"Think  a  little " 

Mary  lifted  flashing  eyes. 

"  Why  should  I  think  ?  " 

"  This  is  a  crown  you  put  aside  so  lightly !  " 

The  Princess  smiled  wistfully. 

"  I  should  be  a  poor  fool  to  risk  what  I  have  for  a  triple 
crown ! " 

"Still — wait — see,"  urged  the  Countess;  "'tis  the  crown  of 
England  that  my  lord  offereth " 

"  Do  you  think  that  anything  to  me  compared  to  the  regard 
of  the  Prince?"  asked  Mary  passionately.  "I  thought  that 


FAREWELL  TO   HOLLAND  153 

you  would  understand.  Can  you  picture  him  as  my  pensioner — 
him  !  It  is  laughable,  when  my  whole  life  hath  been  one  sub- 
mission to  his  will.  Oh,  you  must  see  that  he  is  everything  in 

the  world  to  me  ...  I  have  no  one  else "  She  continued 

speaking  rapidly,  almost  incoherently,  as  was  her  fashion  when 
greatly  moved.  "  At  first  I  thought  he  would  never  care,  but 
now  he  doth ;  but  he  is  not  meek,  and  I  might  lose  it  all — all  this 
happiness  that  hath  been  so  long  a-coming.  Oh,  I  will  write 
such  a  letter  to  my  lord  ! " 

"You  sacrifice  a  good  deal  for  the  Prince,"  said  the 
Countess  half  sadly. 

"Why," answered  Mary,  "this  is  easier  than  going  against  my 
father,  and  giving  the  world  cause  to  scorn  me  as  an  unnatural 
daughter " 

Her  lips  quivered,  but  she  set  them  proudly. 

"  I  have  talked  enough  on  this  matter,  God  forgive  me,  but  I 
was  angered  by  this  lord's  impertinence." 

The  Countess  made  some  movement  to  speak,  but  Mary 
checked  her. 

"No  more  of  this,  my  Lady  Sunderland,"  she  said  firmly. 
She  took  a  sheet  of  paper  from  the  bureau  and  began  to 
write. 

Lady  Sunderland  moved  to  the  stove  and  watched  her 
intently  and  with  some  curiosity.  The  wife  of  my  late  Lord 
President  was  tolerably  well  informed  in  English  politics,  and 
knew  that  the  Tories  would  rather  have  the  daughter  than  the 
nephew  of  the  Stewarts  on  the  throne,  and  that  the  great  bulk  of 
the  general  nobility  would  rather  have  a  woman  like  the 
Princess  than  a  man  like  the  Prince  to  rule  them. 

She  did  not  doubt  that  Mary,  with  her  nearer  claim,  her 
English  name  and  blood,  would  readily  be  accepted  by  the 
English  as  Queen,  and  that  the  nation  would  be  glad  to  retain 
the  services  of  her  husband  at  the  price  of  some  title,  such  as 
Duke  of  Gloucester — which  had  been  proposed  for  him  before — 
and  whatever  dignity  Mary  chose  to  confer  on  him.  She 
certainly  thought  that  this  scheme,  pleasing  as  it  might  be  to 
Whig  and  Tory,  showed  a  lack  of  observation  of  character  on 
the  part  of  the  originator,  my  Lord  Danby ;  Lord  Sunderland  had 
always  declared  that  it  was  the  Prince  they  needed,  not  his  wife, 


154  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

and  that  they  would  never  obtain  him  save  for  the  highest  price — 
the  crown. 

Yet  the  Countess,  standing  in  this  little  room,  watching 
Mary  writing  with  the  candlelight  over  her  bright  hair  and 
white  garments,  seeing  her  calmly  enclose  to  the  Prince  Lord 
Danby's  letter  and  a  copy  of  her  answer,  could  not  help  some 
wonder  that  this  young  woman — a  Stewart,  and  born  to  power 
and  gaiety — should  so  lightly  and  scornfully  put  aside  a  crown — 
the  crown  of  England. 

When  Mary  had  finished  her  letters  and  sealed  them,  she 
rose  and  came  also  to  the  stove.  She  looked  very  grave. 

"  The  Prince  saith  not  one  word  of  our  losses,"  she 
remarked — "Madame  Bentinck,  I  mean,  and  M.  Fagel,  yet 
both  must  have  touched  him  nearly.  I  am  sorry  for  M. 
Bentinck,  who  hath  had  no  time  to  grieve." 

"  What  will  happen  in  England  now,  Highness  ?  "  asked  the 
Countess,  thinking  of  the  Earl. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Mary,  breathing  quickly,  "  they  will  offer 
the  Prince  the  throne  ...  he  commandeth  my  presence  in 
England  ...  I  must  leave  Holland " 

"  You  love  the  country  ?  " 

u  Better  than  my  own.  I  was  not  made  for  great  affairs.  I 
love  this  quiet  life — my  houses  here,  the  people  .  .  ." 

She  broke  off  quickly. 

"  What  will  you  do,  Madame  ?  " 

Lady  Sunderland  indeed  wondered. 

"  Go  join  my  lord  in  Amsterdam,"  she  answered  half  reck- 
lessly. "  An  exile  remains  an  exile." 

"  The  Prince,"  said  Mary  gravely,  "  hath  some  debt  to  my 
lord.  He  never  forgetteth  his  friends — or  those  who  serve 
him." 

"  I  thank  you  for  that  much  comfort,  Madame." 

"  You  must  return  to  England — to  Althorp,"  continued  the 
Princess  gently;  "you  have  done  nothing  that  you  should  stay 
abroad " 

Lady  Sunderland  shook  her  head. 

"  What  is  Althorp  to  me,  God  help  me  !  I  think  my  home  is 
in  Amsterdam — I  shall  go  there  when  Your  Highness  leaveth  for 
England." 


FAREWELL  TO  HOLLAND  155 

Mary  put  her  cool  hand  over  the  slim  fingers  of  the  Countess 
that  rested  on  the  back  of  the  high  walnut  chair. 

"  Are  you  going  with  Basilea  de  Marsac  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  she  is  a  good  soul." 

"  A  Catholic,"  said  Mary,  with  a  little  frown ;  "  but  I  like  her 
too— better  than  I  did " 

"  She  hath  become  very  devoted  to  Your  Highness ;  she  is 
very  lonely." 

"  What  was  her  husband  ?  " 

Lady  Sunderland  smiled. 

"An  incident." 

Mary  smiled  too,  then  moved  back  to  the  bureau. 

"  I  must  get  back  to  bed ;  I  have  a  sore  throat  which  I  must 
nurse."  She  coughed,  and  moistened  her  lips.  "  I  am  as  hoarse 
as  a  town-crier."  She  laughed  again  unsteadily  and  rang  the 
silver  bell  before  her.  "  I  never  pass  a  winter  without  a  swelled 
face  or  a  sore  throat." 

The  Dutch  waiting  lady  entered,  and  Mary  gave  her  the 
letters. 

"  See  that  they  go  at  the  earliest — and,  Wendela,  you  look 
tired,  get  to  bed  immediately." 

With  no  more  than  this  she  sent  off  her  refusal  of  three 
kingdoms.  When  they  were  alone  again  she  rose  and  suddenly 
embraced  Lady  Sunderland. 

"  Do  you  think  I  shall  come  back  to  Holland  ?  "  she  asked 
under  her  breath. 

"  Why— surely " 

11  Ah,  I  know  not."  She  loosened  her  arms  and  sank  on  to 
the  stool  near  the  stove.  "  Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  the  sands  were 
running  out  of  me.  You  know,"  she  smiled  wistfully,  "  I  have 
an  unfortunate  name;  the  last  Mary  Stewart,  the  Prince  his 
mother,  was  not  thirty  when  she  died — of  smallpox." 

She  was  silent,  and  something  in  her  manner  held  Lady 
Sunderland  silent  too. 

"  A  terrible  thing  to  die  of,"  added  Mary,  after  a  little.  "  I 
often  think  of  it ;  when  you  are  young  it  must  be  hard,  humanly 
speaking,  but  God  knoweth  best." 

"  I  wonder  why  you  think  of  that  now  ? "  asked  Lady 
Sunderland  gently. 


156  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"  I  wonder !  We  must  go  to  bed  .  .  .  this  is  marvellous 
news  we  have  had  to-night  ...  to  know  that  I  must  sail  when 
the  ice  breaketh  .  .  .  good  night,  my  Lady  Sunderland." 

The  Countess  took  her  leave  and  Mary  put  out  the  candles, 
which  left  the  room  only  lit  by  the  steady  glow  from  the  white, 
hot  heart  of  the  open  stove. 

Mary  drew  the  curtains  from  the  tall  window  and  looked  out. 

It  was  a  clear  frosty  night,  utterly  silent;  the  motionless 
branches  of  the  trees  crossed  and  interlaced  into  a  dense  black- 
ness, through  which  the  stars  glimmered  suddenly,  and  suddenly 
seemed  to  disappear. 

The  chimes  of  the  Groote  Kerk  struck  the  half-hour,  and  the 
echoes  dwelt  in  the  silence  tremblingly. 

Mary  dropped  the  curtain  and  walked  about  the  room  a 
little.  Then  she  went  to  the  still  open  desft  and  took  up  the 
remaining  letter — that  of  the  Prince. 

With  it  in  her  hand  she  stood  thoughtful,  thinking  of  her 
father  in  France,  of  all  the  extraordinary  changes  and  chances 
which  had  brought  her  to  this  situation,  face  to  face  with  a 
dreaded  difference  from  anything  she  had  known. 

She  went  on  her  knees  presently,  rested  her  head  against 
the  stool,  worked  by  her  own  fingers  in  a  design  of  beads  and 
wool,  put  the  letter  against  her  cheek,  and  desperately  tried  to 
pray  and  forget  earthly  matters. 

But  ever  between  her  and  peace  rose  the  angry,  tragic  face  of 
her  father  and  the  stern  face  of  her  husband  confronting  each 
other,  and  a  background  of  other  faces — the  mocking,  jeering 
faces  of  the  world — scorning  her  as  one  who  had  wronged  her 
father  through  lust  of  earthly  greatness. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
BY  THE  GRACE  OF  GOD 

THE  Princess's  boat,  with  her  escort  of  Dutch  warships,  rode 
in  the  Thames  at  last.  The  frost  had  broken,  and  she 
arrived  not  long  after  her  letter  to  Lord  Danby  had  scattered 
that  statesman's  party,  and  frustrated  his  hopes  of  placing  her  on 
the  throne.  The  Prince  having  soon  after  declared  his  mind  to 
the  lords  in  council,  that  he  would  accept  no  position  dependent 
on  his  wife's  pleasure  or  the  life  of  another  (for  there  had  been 
talk  of  a  regency,  leaving  the  King  the  nominal  title),  made  it 
clear  that  if  his  services  were  to  be  retained,  if  he  was  not  to 
abandon  them  to  the  confusion,  strife,  and  disaster  from  which 
his  presence  alone  saved  them,  he  must  be  King.  All  parties 
uniting,  then,  on  what  was  now  proved  to  be  the  winning  side, 
the  Convention  voted  the  offer  of  the  crown  to  the  Prince  and 
Princess  jointly — the  sole  administration  to  rest  with  him. 

The  succession,  after  naming  the  direct  line,  was  left  vague 
to  please  the  Prince,  who  was  free  to  flatter  himself  that  he  could 
choose  his  own  heir. 

This  news  had  come  to  Mary  before  she  left  The  Hague, 
and  she  knew  that  the  day  after  her  landing  there  would  be  a 
formal  offering  and  acceptance  of  the  crown  of  Great  Britain. 
She  beheld  the  prospect  with  extraordinary  sensations  as,  passing 
Gravesend,  and  leaving  her  vessel  and  escort  at  Greenwich,  she 
proceeded  in  a  state  barge  to  the  more  familiar  reaches  of  the 
river,  Rotherhithe,  and  presently  the  Tower,  rising  golden  grey 
in  the  chill  spring  sunshine,  by  the  bridge  with  the  deep  crazy 
arches  through  which  the  water  poured  in  dangerous  rapids. 
Crowded  with  houses  was  this  old  bridge,  and  in  the  centre  a 
little  chapel  with  a  bell,  now  ringing  joyfully. 

Mary  remembered  it  all — the  long  busy  wharves,  now  taking 

'S7 


158  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

holiday ;  the  barges,  boats,  and  compact  shipping  now  hung  with 
flags;  Galley  Key,  where  the  slaves  in  chains  unlade  the  oranges, 
silks,  and  spices  from  the  East;  the  houses,  on  the  side  of 
Surrey,  among  which  rose  the  spire  of  the  great  church  at 
Southwark ;  the  merchants'  houses  built  down  to  the  water's 
edge,  with  pleasant  gardens  filled  with  poplar  trees  and  set  with 
the  figureheads  of  ships  in  which  some  adventurer  had  sailed 
his  early  travels  long  ago  in  the  time  of  Elizabeth  Tudor ;  and 
the  distant  prospect  of  the  city  itself  shimmering  now  under  an 
early  haze  of  sunshine. 

All  was  utterly  strange,  yet  nothing  was  altered  ;  it  looked  the 
same  as  when,  weeping  to  leave  England,  she  had  come  down 
these  waters  in  a  barge  with  her  silent  husband,  ten  years  ago, 
and  waited  at  Gravesend  for  the  wind. 

One  difference  attracted  Mary's  eyes.  Behind  and  beyond 
the  Tower  a  mass  of  scaffolding  rose  that  dominated  the  whole 
city,  and  through  the  crossed  poles,  boards,  and  ropes,  she  could 
discern  the  majestic  outline  of  the  dome  of  that  vast  church 
which  had  been  slowly  rising  out  of  the  ashes  of  the  old  St. 
Paul's  since  she  was  a  child. 

At  the  Tower  Wharf  she  landed,  laughing  hysterically,  and 
hardly  knowing  what  she  did.  They  gave  her  a  royal  salute  of 
cannon,  and  she  saw  all  the  guards  drawn  up  in  squares,  with 
their  spears  in  the  midst,  and  a  red  way  of  brocade  carpet  laid 
down  for  her,  and  a  coach  with  white  horses  and  running  footmen, 
and  beyond,  a  press  of  noblemen  and  officers,  and  the  sheriffs  and 
aldermen  of  the  city  with  the  Lord  Mayor. 

She  hesitated  on  the  gangway,  amidst  her  ladies,  her  spirit 
completely  overwhelmed.  She  looked  round  desperately  for 
some  one  to  whom  to  say — "  I  cannot  do  it — I  cannot  put  it 
through.  I  must  die,  but  I  cannot  be  Queen." 

The  complete  incomprehension  on  the  excited  faces  of  these 
ladies,  the  strangeness  of  many  of  them,  recalled  her  with  a 
shock  to  herself;  she  felt  as  if  she  had  been  on  the  point  of 
betraying  her  husband.  She  recalled  his  last  letter,  in  which  he 
had  asked  her  to  show  no  grief  or  hesitation  in  her  manner,  and, 
biting  her  lips  fiercely,  she  stepped  firmly  on  to  English  soil,  and 
managed  somehow  to  respond  to  the  lowly  salutations  of  the 
crowd  pressing  to  receive  her.  The  Prince  was  by  the  coach 


BY  THE  GRACE  OF  GOD  159 

door ;  she  noticed  that  he  wore  his  George  and  garter,  which  he 
had  not  done  perhaps  twice  before.  There  were  a  great  many 
gentlemen  behind  him,  many  of  them  those  whom  she  had 
already  met  at  The  Hague,  others  strange  to  her,  several  of  the 
Dutch  officers,  and  M.  Bentinck  in  mourning  for  his  wife. 

Mary,  still  English  enough  to  think  her  country  the  finest  in 
the  world,  was  thrilled  with  pleasure  to  see  how  respectfully  all 
these  great  nobles  held  themselves  to  the  Prince.  She  was  used 
to  see  him  receive  this  homage  in  his  own  country  and  from 
the  magnates  of  the  Empire,  but  these  Englishmen  were  to  her 
more  than  any  German  princes. 

The  Prince  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  and  said  very  quickly 
in  Dutch — 

"  I  would  that  this  had  been  in  Holland." 

The  English  gentlemen  bowed  till  their  long  perukes  touched 
their  knees,  Mary  entered  the  coach  with  Lady  Argyll  and  a 
Dutch  lady,  the  Prince  mounted  his  white  horse,  and  the 
cavalcade  started  through  the  expectant  city  with  all  that  pomp 
which  the  people  would  not  forgo  and  the  Prince  to-day  could 
not  avoid. 

All  London  was  eager  for  a  sight  of  the  Princess.  The  last 
Queen,  foreign,  proud  Romanist,  and  hard,  had  never  been  a 
favourite,  the  Queen  Dowager  had  never  counted  for  anything, 
and  was  now  a  forgotten  figure  in  Somerset  House ;  but  Mary 
was  English,  Protestant,  and  her  image  had  long  been  faithfully 
cherished  in  England  as  that  of  a  native  Princess  who  would 
some  day  restore  the  old  faith.  Therefore  her  greeting  was  such 
as  made  her  turn  pale ;  she  had  never  before  heard  such  thunders 
of  acclamation,  popular  as  she  was  in  the  United  Provinces. 

Every  road,  every  housetop,  all  the  windows,  alleys,  and 
turnings  were  filled  with  well-dressed,  orderly  people,  who 
cheered  her  and  cheered  the  Prince  till  Mary  felt  dizzy.  She  saw 
in  this  their  true  title  to  the  crown ;  the  lords  were  but  obeying 
the  people  in  setting  it  on  their  heads,  and  she  recalled  how 
these  same  Londoners  had  besieged  the  doors  of  Westminster 
Hall,  while  the  Convention  was  sitting,  and  threatened  to  use 
violence  if  the  Prince  was  not  elected  King. 

Her  appearance  of  beautiful  youth,  her  sparkling  excitement, 
her  gracious  smiles  made  a  favourable  impression,  and  further 


160  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

roused   the  enthusiasm  which  the  very  stiff  demeanour  of  the 
Prince,  to  whom  this  display  was  hateful,  was  apt  to  damp. 

By  the  time  they  reached  Whitehall  she  was  more  popular 
than  he,  and  the  nobles  who  rode  in  the  procession  thought  to 
themselves  that  the  English  wife  would  serve  to  keep  the  foreign 
husband  in  the  affections  of  the  people. 

Whitehall  was  filled  with  English,  Dutch,  and  Scotch  waiting 
to  kiss  her  hand:  Mr.  Sidney  was  there,  Mr.  Herbert,  Mr. 
Russell,  Lord  Shrewsbury,  Lord  Devonshire,  Lord  Halifax,  Lord 
Godolphin,  Lord  Danby,  and  others  whom  she  did  not  know  or 
had  forgotten ;  their  background  was  that  splendid  palace,  seem- 
ing vast  and  magnificent  indeed  after  her  houses  in  Holland, 
which  she  had  left  so  sadly  ten  years  ago.  Then  she  had  wept, 
now  she  laughed  and  was  very  gracious,  but  in  her  heart  she  was 
as  reluctant  to  enter  Whitehall  as  she  had  ever  been  to  leave  it ; 
the  memories  the  place  aroused  were  poignant,  not  sweet. 

It  was  three  hours  before  she  found  herself  alone  with  the 
Prince  in  that  gorgeous  little  chamber  that  had  once  been  her 
father's,  and  still  contained  his  pictures,  statues,  his  monogram 
and  arms  on  chairs  and  carvings. 

The  instant  he  had  closed  the  door  the  Prince  kissed  her  in 
silence,  rand  she  burst  into  speech. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  ?  Are  you  pleased  ?  Is  this  another  step 
in  your  task — they — these  people — will  they  help  ?  How  long 
the  time  hath  seemed  ! " 

"  To  me  also,"  said  the  Prince  unsteadily. 

She  stepped  back  to  look  at  him  anxiously  :  he  was  extrava- 
gantly vestured  in  embroidered  scarlet,  lace,  jewels,  the  George 
and  garter  conspicuous,  and  a  great  star  of  diamonds  on  his 
breast.  A  close  scrutiny  showed  that  he  looked  more  ill  and 
weary  than  she  had  ever  known  him. 

"  You  are  changed,"  she  said  quickly.  "  Oh,  my  dear,  the 
climate  doth  not  suit  you " 

He  smiled  languidly. 

"I  would  we  had  met  in  Holland,"  he  answered.  "I  am 
sick  for  Holland,  Marie." 

"  Already  ?  " 

He  seated  himself  in  the  deep  window-seat  that  overlooked 
the  privy  garden  and  she  took  the  low  stool  beside,  studying  him 


BY  THE  GRACE  OF  GOD  161 

wistfully  for  one  hint  of  that  enthusiasm  and  elation  which  she 
hoped  would  be  called  forth  by  his  splendid  success. 

"We  could  not  have  asked  God  for  a  more  happy  ending," 
she  said  in  a  trembling  voice. 

"  They  —  the  English  —  will  declare  against  France,"  he 
answered,  but  without  spirit,  and  as  if  it  was  an  effort  to  speak  at 

all.    "  If  I  could  get  them  into  the  field  this  spring "  He  was 

interrupted  by  his  cough,  which  was  violent  and  frequent,  and  he 
flung  the  window  open  impatiently.  "There  is  no  air  in  this 
place,"  he  continued,  in  a  gasping  voice ;  "  their  smoky  chimneys 
and  their  smells  are  killing  me ;  I  cannot  endure  London." 

"  We  need  not  live  here,"  said  Mary  quickly. 

"  They  think  so,"  he  returned ;  "  'tis  our  post,  where  we  are 
paid  to  be " 

The  scarcely  concealed  bitterness  with  which  he  spoke  of 
England  was  a  matter  of  amaze  and  terror  to  Mary,  in  whose 
ears  still  rang  the  enthusiastic  shouts  of  the  people  and  the 
flatteries  of  the  courtiers. 

"  But  you  are  popular "  she  began. 

"  Hosanna  to-day,  and  to-morrow  crucify  ! "  he  answered.  "  I 
shall  not  long  be  popular — the  great  lords  have  not  loved  me 
from  the  first.  They  offer  me  the  throne  because  there  is  no 
other  to  serve  their  turn,  and  I  take  it  because  it  is  the  only  way 
to  secure  them  against  France.  But  I  undertake  hard  service, 
Marie." 

"You  mean — the  difficulties?" 

"  The  difficulties !  I  confess  I  am  overwhelmed  by  them ; 
everything  is  confusion — everything !  To  get  the  bare  Govern- 
ment on  a  business  footing  would  take  a  year's  hard  work,  saying 
every  one  was  honest — and  every  one  is  corrupt.  I  can  trust  none 
of  them.  There  is  Ireland  in  a  ferment  and  the  Scottish  affairs 
in  a  tangle  ;  there  are  a  hundred  different  parties,  with  indecipher- 
able politics,  waiting  to  fly  at  each  other's  throats ;  the  Church  is 
hydra-headed  with  factions — and  a  cow  might  as  well  be  set  to 
catch  a  hare  as  I  set  to  put  this  straight,  and  I  have  had  the 
business  of  Europe  to  conduct  already." 

Mary's  pride  and  pleasure  were  utterly  dashed.     Troubles  and 
difficulties  she  had  been  prepared  for,  but  they  had  been  vague 
and  distant ;  she  had  not  thought   to   find  the   Prince  already 
ii 


162  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

whelmed  in  them.  She  reflected  swiftly  on  the  anxiety,  labour, 
and  anguish  that  had  gone  to  this  expedition,  the  odium  they 
had  both  incurred,  the  violence  she  had  done  her  own  feelings, 
and  she  wondered  desperately  if  it  had  been  worth  the  price. 

The  Prince  took  her  hand,  having  noticed  the  paling  of  her 
face  and  the  distress  in  her  eyes. 

"  We  will  talk  of  other  things,"  he  said,  with  an  effort  over 
his  tired  voice.  "  I  am  weak  to  burden  you  at  once  with  this ; 
you  at  least  will  be  beloved  here " 

Mary  broke  in  passionately — 

"  I  do  not  love  England — nor  want  to  be  Queen.  I  doubt  I 
can  do  it — I  was  made  for  little  things  and  peace — I  hate  this 
palace,"  she  glanced  desperately  round  her  father's  splendour; 
"our  own  homes — where  we  were  so  happy — are  they  not 
better  ?  " 

The  Prince  went  very  pale. 

"  I  should  not  have  repined,"  he  said ;  "  it  is  my  task,  which 
I  must  put  through  .  .  .  the  part  you  have  been  made  to  take 
is  the  worst  for  me — the  part  you  may  have  to  take " 

"If  it  serveth  you  I  am  very  content,"  she  answered;  "if  I 
can  do  anything  to  help  I  shall  be  happy " 

The  tears  sprang  into  the  Prince's  eyes.  He  looked  away  out 
of  the  window. 

"  Marie — about  His  late  Majesty — I  could  not  help — that  he 
was  stopped  in  Kent  ...  I  would  not  have  had  it  happen — 

"  Do  not  fear,"  she  answered  wildly,  "  that  I  do  not  in  every- 
thing hold  you  justified  ?  " 

Her  voice  broke,  and  she  began  to  weep. 

The  Prince  rose  and  helped  her  to  her  feet. 

"  We  must  not  show  tears  here,"  he  said  gently,  "  for  we  are 
not  at  home — but  among  many  enemies " 

She  dried  her  eyes  and  smiled  bravely. 

"  Do  we  feel  constraint  so  soon  ?  " 

"We  pay  something,"  he  said  sadly,  "that  we  are,  by  the 
grace  of  God,  Monarchs  of  England." 


PART  II 
THE  QUEEN 


"  I  have  really  hardly  had  time  to  say  my  prayers,  and  was  feign  to  run 
away  to  Kensington,  where  I  had  three  hours  of  quiet,  which  was  more  than 
I  had  had  together  since  I  saw  j^u. 

"  That  place  made  me  think  how  happy  I  was  there  when  I  had  your  dear 
company  ;  but  now — I  will  say  no  more,  for  I  shall  hurt  my  own  eyes,  which 
I  now  want  more  than  ever. 

"Adieu  !  Think  of  me  and  love  me  as  much  as  I  shall  you,  who  I  love 
more  than  my  life." — QUEEN  MARY  TO  KING  WILLIAM,  \yhjuly  1690. 

"  Every  hour  maketh  me  more  impatient  to  hear  from  you,  and  everything 
I  hear  stir  I  think  bringeth  me  a  letter.  ...  I  have  stayed  till  I  am  almost 
asleep  in  hopes  ;  but  they  are  vaine,  and  I  must  once  more  go  to  bed  and 
wished  to  be  waked  with  a  letter,  which  I  shall  at  last  get,  I  hope  .  .  .  adieu  ! 
Do  but  love  me  and  I  can  bear  anything." — QUEEN  MARY  TO  KING  WILLIAM, 
July  1690. 

— "  My  poor  heart  is  ready  to  break  every  time  I  think  in  what  perpetual 
danger  you  are ;  I  am  in  greater  fears  than  can  be  imagined  by  any  who 
loves  less  than  myself. 

"  I  count  the  hours  and  the  moments,  and  have  only  reason  left  to  think — 
as  long  as  I  have  no  letters  all  is  well.  ...  I  never  do  anything  without 
thinking — now,  it  may  be,  you  are  in  the  greatest  dangers,  and  yet  I  must  see 
company  on  my  set  days  ;  I  must  play  twice  a  week  ;  nay,  I  must  laugh  and 
talk,  tho'  never  so  much  against  my  will.  I  believe  that  I  dissemble  very  ill 
to  those  who  know  me  ;  at  least  it  is  a  great  constraint  to  myself,  yet  I  must 
endure  it.  All  my  movements  are  so  watched,  and  all  I  do  so  observed,  that 
if  I  eat  less,  speak  less,  or  look  more  grave,  all  is  lost  in  the  opinion  of  the 
world ;  so  that  I  have  this  misery  added  to  that  of  your  absence  and  my  fears 
for  your  dear  person,  that  I  must  grin  when  my  heart  is  ready  to  break,  and 
talk  when  my  heart  is  so  oppressed  I  can  scarce  breathe.  .  .  .  Besides,  I 
must  hear  of  business,  which,  being  a  thing  I  am  so  new  in  and  so  unfit  for, 
doth  but  break  my  brains  the  more  and  not  ease  my  heart.  .  .  . 

"  Farewell !  Do  but  continue  to  love  me  and  forgive  the  taking  up  so 
much  of  your  time  to  your  poor  wife,  who  deserves  more  pity  than  ever  any 
creature  did,  and  who  loves  you  a  great  deal  too  much  for  her  own  ease,  tho' 
it  can't  be  more  than  you  deserve."— QUEEN  MARY  TO  KING  WILLIAM, 
yh.  September  1690. 


CHAPTER  I 
A  DARK  DAWNING 

IN  the  King's  antechamber  at  Kensington  House  my  Lord 
Dorset  and  one  of  his  pensioners  (of  which  he  had  a  many) 
awaited  an  audience  of  His  Majesty. 

It  was  a  year  since  the  Revolution,  a  cold-wet  autumn,  and 
Kensington  House,  recently  bought  from  my  Lord  Nottingham, 
stood  blank  and  sad  among  dripping  wet  trees. 

Lord  Dorset  strolled  to  the  window  and  looked  out  on  the 
great  park  spreading  to  the  horizon.  He,  in  common  with  every 
other  Englishman,  found  both  house  and  grounds  an  ill 
substitute  for  Whitehall,  where  the  King  would  never  go  when 
not  forced,  spending  his  time  at  Hampton  Court,  Holland 
House,  or  here,  in  this  half-built  villa,  still  disfigured  with  the 
scaffolding  poles  of  the  alterations  Mr.  Wren  was  putting  in 
hand.  Lord  Dorset  sighed;  he  was  a  tolerant,  sweet-natured 
man,  more  interested  in  art  than  politics ;  he  had  been  magnificent 
as  Lord  Buckhurst,  and  was  more  magnificent  as  Marquess  and 
holder  of  the  office  of  Lord  Chamberlain. 

Presently  the  Lords  Shrewsbury  and  Nottingham  came  out 
of  the  King's  Cabinet;  the  first  looked  downcast,  the  second 
sour. 

Dorset  lifted  his  eyebrows  at  Shrewsbury,  who  said  dolefully 
as  he  passed — 

"  Good  God !  we  are  like  to  get  on  the  rocks — nothing  is 
right." 

When  the  two  Secretaries  of  State  had  passed,  Lord  Dorset 
remarked  to  his  young  companion,  with  a  kind  of  good-natured 
softness — 

"  You  see — I   have  brought  you  to  Court  in  an  ill  time ; 

perchance  I  had  best  not  press  for  an  audience  to-day " 

165 


166  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

But  even  as  he  spoke  the  door  of  the  Cabinet  opened  and 
the  King  came  out. 

He  stood  for  a  second  in  the  doorway,  looking  at  the  few 
gentlemen  standing  about  the  bare,  large  room  ;  then  his  glance 
fell  on  Lord  Dorset,  who  moved  forward  with  his  splendid  air  of 
grace. 

"  Is  it  the  wrong  moment  to  present  to  the  notice  of  Your 
Majesty  the  young  poet  of  whom  I  spoke  yesterday  ?  " 

The  King's  large  open  eyes  turned  to  the  pale  and  agitated 
young  man  in  question,  who  instantly  went  on  his  knees. 

"  A  poet  ?  "  repeated  William ;  the  word  to  him  conveyed  a 
mild,  but  scarcely  harmless  madness.  He  thought  the  patronage 
of  these  people  an  irritating  trait  in  his  Lord  Chamberlain. 
"  Have  we  not  already  poets  in  our  Court  ?  " 

Lord  Dorset  smiled. 

"  This  poet,  sir,  is  also  a  very  good  Protestant,  and  one  who 
did  much  service  in  writing  of  satires " 

"We  have  always  uses  for  a  clever  pen,"  said  William,  in 
whose  own  country  the  printing  press  was  a  powerful  political 
engine.  He  turned  gravely  to  the  young  man — 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Matthew  Prior,  Your  Majesty." 

"  You  wish  a  post  about  the  Court,  Mr.  Prior  ?  " 

The  aspirant  lifted  sincere  and  ardent  eyes. 

"I  have  desired  all  my  life  to  serve  Your  Majesty,"  he 
answered,  which  was  true  enough,  for  he  cherished  an  almost 
romantical  admiration  for  William. 

"  My  Lord  Dorset,"  said  the  King,  "  is  a  fine  guarantee  for 

any  man ;  we  will  find  some  place  for  you "     He  cut  short 

protestations  of  gratitude  by  saying,  "  You  must  not  expect  us  to 
read  your  poems,  Mr.  Prior." 

"Your  Majesty  was  ever  severe  on  that  art,"  smiled  Lord 
Dorset. 

"  I  do  not  understand  it,"  said  William  simply ;  but  the  Lord 
Chamberlain  had  a  fine  enough  perception  to  discern  that 
there  had  been  more  poetry  in  the  actions  of  the  King's  life 
than  ever  Matthew  Prior  could  get  on  paper.  He  took  the 
following  silence  for  dismissal,  and  withdrew  with  his  grateful 
pensioner. 


A  DARK  DAWNING  167 

The  King  drew  out  his  watch,  glanced  at  it,  and  called  up 
one  of  the  ushers  at  the  further  doors. 

"  When  Lord  Halifax  arriveth  bid  him  come  at  once  to  us." 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  looking  at  the  sombre  prospect  of 
grey  and  rain  to  be  seen  through  the  long  windows,  then  returned 
to  his  private  room  and  closed  the  door. 

A  wood  fire  burnt  between  two  brass  andirons  and  filled  the 
plain  closet  with  warmth,  above  the  walnut  bureau  hung  a  map 
of  the  United  Provinces,  and  on  the  high  mantelshelf  stood 
several  ornaments  and  vases  in  blue-and-white  delft. 

The  King  seated  himself  in  the  red  damask  covered  chair 
before  the  desk,  and  mechanically  took  up  the  quill  that  lay 
before  him ;  but  presently  it  fell  from  his  fingers  and  he  leant 
back  in  his  seat,  staring  at  the  map  of  his  country. 

Since  his  coronation  in  April  last,  nay,  since  his  first  assump- 
tion of  the  government  a  year  ago,  everything  had  gone  wrong, 
and  he  had  been  blamed  for  it;  nothing  could  exaggerate  the 
difficulties  of  his  position.  He  had  partially  expected  them,  for 
he  was  not  naturally  sanguine,  but  his  worst  imaginings  had 
fallen  short  of  the  actual  happenings. 

Affairs  had  now  reached  a  crisis.  In  England,  Scotland,  and 
Ireland  was  a  deadlock,  on  the  Continent  imminent  peril,  and  the 
King,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  doubted  his  own  capacity  to 
deal  with  such  huge  obstacles  as  those  which  confronted  and 
threatened  to  overwhelm  him. 

Sitting  utterly  still,  he  mentally  faced  the  task  before  him. 

He  believed  that  to  fail  utterly  was  impossible,  since  that 
would  be  to  deny  the  teaching  of  his  own  soul,  and  so,  God ; 
but  he  might  fail  partially,  and  he  might,  even  in  winning  a 
small  measure  of  success,  forfeit  tremendous  stakes. 

The  loss  of  personal  ease,  of  his  popularity  in  England,  a 
complete  misunderstanding  of  his  motives,  the  rancorous, 
malicious  hate  of  his  enemies — these  things  he  had,  from  the 
moment  of  his  coronation,  been  prepared  for ;  but  it  might  be 
that  he  would  be  called  upon  to  make  vaster  sacrifices — the 
friendship  of  many  former  supporters,  even  their  long-cherished 
love  and  loyalty,  the  trust  and  confidence  of  the  allies,  the 
admiration  of  the  dissenting  churches  throughout  Europe,  even 
his  own  peace  of  soul.  Everything  in  brief,  that  he  valued,  save  the 


1 68  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

love  of  Mary  and  the  friendship  of  William  Bentinck,  must  be 
pledged,  and  might  be  lost  in  this  forthcoming  conflict. 

He  had  honestly  and  justly  tried  to  satisfy  the  English,  but 
had  met  with  utter  failure.  They  reproached — reviled  him,  com- 
plained, and  loudly  voiced  their  dissatisfaction;  he  had  not 
pleased  one  of  those  who  had  placed  him  on  the  throne.  The 
chaotic  state  of  the  Government  might,  to  a  superficial  observer, 
appear  to  give  some  warrant  for  their  discontent;  but,  as  the 
King  cynically  observed  to  himself,  they  were  incapable  of  even 
suggesting  a  remedy  for  the  ills  they  so  decried ;  he  did  every- 
thing, and  Whig  and  Tory  alike  agreed  in  putting  all  burdens  on 
his  shoulders,  then  in  blaming  his  administration. 

In  the  crisis  of  '88  their  action  had  been  oblique.  They  had 
shifted  the  almost  intolerable  confusion  of  affairs  into  his  hands, 
then  stood  back  to  watch  and  criticise,  while  he,  who  had  already 
the  business  of  half  Europe  on  his  mind,  made  what  order  he 
could  out  of  jarring  chaos.  His  health  had  broken  under  the 
strain ;  even  his  friends  noticed  a  new  languor  in  him,  which  the 
English  were  quick  to  dub  sloth.  Deprived  of  his  one  recreation 
of  hunting — for  which  he  had  no  time — hardly  able  to  endure  the 
stenches  and  smoke  of  London,  his  reserved  temper  taxed  almost 
beyond  bearing  by  the  incessant,  unreasonable,  shortsighted 
quarrelling  by  which  he  was  surrounded,  he  felt  his  strength 
slipping  like  water  through  his  hands. 

His  popularity  had  gone  as  he  had  predicted  it  would.  The 
Jacobites  were  already  a  tremendously  strong  party,  and  his  own 
ministers  were  half  of  them  already  beginning  to  traffic  with  the 
exiled  King — who  was  now  in  Ireland  with  French  troops,  and  of 
whom  it  had  been  said  that,  would  he  but  change  his  religion,  he 
could  not  be  kept  out  of  England  six  weeks. 

William,  reviewing  his  position,  smiled  at  the  shallow  taunts 
that  accused  him  of  having  thirsted  for  a  crown. 

He  was  working  like  a  galley-slave  for  England — working  with 
insufficient  money,  false  servants,  unfriendly  onlookers,  and  an 
apathetic  nation  ready  to  seize  on  frivolous  pretexts  to  dub  him 
unpopular — and  his  reward  for  labours,  that  perhaps  not  one  of 
his  subjects  had  any  conception  of,  was  the  nominal  dignity  of 
kingship  and  the  long-fought-for  alliance  of  England  with  the 
States. 


A  DARK  DAWNING  169 

He  was  certainly  paying  a  bitter  price. 

All  the  great  nobles  were  dissatisfied.  The  King  had  a  keen 
dislike  of  party,  and  his  ideal  of  government  was  a  cabinet  com- 
prised of  the  best  men  of  every  faction  to  advise  a  ruler  free  to 
decide  the  final  issue  of  every  question.  He  had  tried  this  scheme 
in  England,  equally  honouring  Whig  and  Tory,  and  taking  his 
ministers  from  the  rival  ranks. 

The  plan  had  been  an  utter  failure ;  each  faction  wanted  the 
supreme  control.  The  Whigs  wanted  the  King  to  become  their 
champion,  and  avenge  them  indiscriminately  on  every  Tory  ; 
the  Tories,  who  had  always  been  opposed  to  William,  refused  to 
work  with  the  Whigs ;  Danby,  created  Marquess  of  Caermarthen 
at  the  Coronation,  was  furious  because  he  had  not  the  privy  seals ; 
Halifax,  to  whom  they  had  been  given,  grudged  Danby  the 
Marquisate ;  the  two  Secretaries,  Shrewsbury  and  Nottingham, 
were  scarcely  on  speaking  terms ;  Russell,  now  Lord  Orford,  and 
Herbert,  now  Lord  Torrington,  quarrelled  fiercely  over  the  naval 
affairs;  at  the  Treasury  Board,  Lord  Mordaunt,  now  Earl  of 
Monmouth  and  Lord  Delamere,  both  hot  Whigs,  did  their  best 
to  disparage  their  colleague,  Lord  Godolphin,  who,  of  all  the 
Government,  was  the  quietest  man  and  the  one  most  esteemed 
by  the  King;  Clarendon,  the  Queen's  uncle,  had  refused  to 
take  the  oaths;  and  his  brother  Rochester  was  suspected  of 
plotting  with  James.  There  was,  in  fact,  scarcely  one  English- 
man, even  among  those  who  had  accompanied  William  to 
England,  whom  he  could  trust,  yet  the  advancement  and  favour 
he  showed  his  Dutch  friends  was  made  the  matter  for  perpetual 
and  noisy  complaint. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  Church  of  England,  which  owed  its 
very  existence  to  the  Revolution,  proved  itself  unreasonable  and 
ungrateful ;  it  refused  stubbornly  to  grant  any  concessions  to  Non- 
conformists, and  wished  severe  penalties  visited  on  the  Papists. 

Added  to  this,  the  home  government  was  rotten  to  the  core, 
the  army  and  navy  in  a  miserable  state,  the  people  overtaxed, 
business  disorganised,  the  treasury  empty,  credit  low,  every  one 
discontented,  Ireland  in  the  possession  of  James,  a  revolt  in 
Scotland,  and,  on  the  Continent,  the  French  making  unchecked 
progress,  and  the  Dutch  beginning  to  complain  that  they  were 
being  neglected  for  the  English. 


170  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

When  it  is  considered  that  the  man  who  was  to  face  and 
overcome  these  difficulties  was  disliked,  distrusted,  misunder- 
stood, and  betrayed  on  every  hand,  it  can  be  no  wonder  that 
even  his  brave  soul  was  drooping. 

His  position  was  in  every  way  complex.  By  nature  imperious, 
arrogant,  of  the  proudest  blood  in  Europe,  he  had  a  high  idea  of 
the  kingly  prerogative,  and  by  instinct  leant  to  the  Tories ;  but 
the  Whigs  claimed  him  as  peculiarly  their  champion,  and  it  was 
undoubtedly  to  their  influence  that  the  Revolution  was  due.  As 
King  of  England  he  was  head  of  the  Anglican  Church  and  sworn 
to  uphold  it ;  but  he  was  a  Calvinist  himself,  and  the  whole  tenor 
of  his  life  had  been  towards  that  broad  toleration  which  the 
Church  regarded  with  abhorrence.  He  was  avowedly  latitudi- 
narian  and  set  his  face  resolutely  against  any  form  of  persecution 
for  religious  belief,  and  while  this  attitude  cost  him  the  support  of 
the  Church,  his  refusal  to  treat  the  Catholics  harshly  lost  him  the 
alliance  of  the  Dissenters,  who  regarded  him  as  disappointingly 
lukewarm  in  the  true  cause. 

A  gentle  treatment  of  the  Papists  was  essential  to  William's 
foreign  policy,  since  he  had  promised  his  Catholic  allies — Spain, 
the  Emperor,  and  the  Pope,  to  protect  those  of  this  persuasion — 
and  it  was,  besides,  his  own  conviction  of  justice  and  the  general 
good.  He  had  therefore  forced  through  Parliament  the  Tolera- 
tion Act,  which  was,  however,  too  limited  to  heal  the  internecine 
disorders  of  religious  parties;  he  had  then  endeavoured  to 
bridge  the  schism  between  Nonconformists  and  Anglicans  by 
the  Comprehension  Bill,  but  the  measure  was  before  its  time  and 
failed  to  pass. 

Many  of  the  bishops  and  clergy  having  refused  to  take  the 
oaths  and  been  obliged  to  resign,  William  had  been  forced  to 
make  new  appointments,  every  one  of  which,  including  that  of  his 
chaplain,  Dr.  Burnet,  to  Sarum,  caused  universal  dissatisfaction. 

There  had  been  a  mutiny  in  the  army  which  had  to  be  re- 
pressed by  Dutch  troops — a  further  grievance  to  the  English,  who 
began  to  bitterly  resent  foreign  soldiers  in  their  midst ;  yet  on 
these  troops  alone  could  the  King  rely. 

William's  lieutenant,  the  popular  and  brilliant  Schomberg,  had 
proved  an  expensive  failure.  He  was  at  present  in  Ireland,  with  a 
huge  army  dying  of  fever  about  him,  doing  nothing  but  writing 


A  DARK  DAWNING  171 

maddening  letters  of  complaint  to  the  King,  who  had,  on  the 
other  hand,  to  listen  to  the  ceaseless  goadings  of  the  English 
Parliament,  who  wished  to  know  why  Ireland  was  not  reduced, 
and  who,  until  that  plague  spot  was  attended  to,  refused  to  turn 
their  attention  to  the  Continent,  where  the  great  events  gathered 
that  were  ever  next  William's  heart. 

Those  were  the  great  difficulties,  but  there  were  many  smaller 
vexations,  such  as  the  party  the  Princess  Anne,  under  the 
influence  of  those  adventurers — the  Churchills — was  forming 
against  the  Court;  the  sulky,  unreasonable  behaviour  of  Lord 
Torrington  at  the  Admiralty  Board;  the  constant  necessity  the 
King  was  under  of  going  to  London  (the  air  of  which  was  liter- 
ally death  to  him),  and  of  dining  in  public  at  Whitehall — a  practice 
he  detested ;  the  lack  of  money  for  the  buildings  at  Hampton 
Court  and  Kensington,  which  were  both  in  an  uncomfortable 
state  of  incompletion ;  his  own  ignorance  on  little  technical  points 
of  administration  and  custom,  which  made  him  dependent  on 
his  English  advisers — all  these  were  added  annoyances  and 
humiliations  that  went  far  to  unman  a  nature  well  inured  to 
strenuous  difficulties. 

The  King  made  a  little  movement  forward  in  his  chair  with  a 
short  cough,  as  if  he  caught  his  breath,  his  eyes  still  fixed  on  the 
map  of  the  United  Provinces ;  his  haggard  face  slightly  flushed 
as  if  he  was  moved  by  some  intense  thought. 

The  latch  clicked,  and  William  turned  his  head  quickly. 

In  the  doorway  was  the  handsome  figure  of  the  tolerant,  able, 
and  cynical  chief  adviser  to  the  Crown,  the  Lord  Privy  Seal,  my 
Lord  Marquess  Halifax. 


CHAPTER    II 
THE  KING  AT  BAY 

MY  Lord  Marquess  left  His  Majesty  after  a  dry  and  formal 
interview  concerned  with  minor  but  necessary  business, 
and,  leaving  the  King  still  sitting  before  the  map  of  the  United 
Provinces,  proceeded  to  the  incomplete  and  ill-furnished  council- 
chamber,  where  my  lords  Shrewsbury,  Caermarthen,  Nottingham, 
and  Godolphin  were  gloomily  conferring. 

Halifax  was  the  only  man  in  the  assembly  not  of  decided 
Whig  or  Tory  politics — it  was  believed  that  this  was  the  reason 
that  the  King  had  elected  him  to  fill  the  highest  place  in  his 
councils.  Lord  Caermarthen,  who,  jealous  of  his  elevation,  was 
known  to  be  secretly  working  his  downfall,  greeted  him  with 
haughty  frankness. 

"I  hope,  my  lord,"  he  said,  "your  interview  with  His 
Majesty  hath  had  some  smack  of  satisfaction  in  it " 

"  Why,  none,"  answered  the  Lord  Privy  Seal ;  "  there  is  no 
satisfaction  anywhere." 

He  seated  himself  on  one  of  the  red  damask  covered  stools 
by  the  table,  and  looked  with  a  kind  of  cynical  amusement  at  the 
other  ministers,  all  of  whom,  he  well  knew,  were,  however  diverse 
their  several  opinions  (with  the  exception  of  Lord  Godolphin), 
doing  their  utmost  to  oust  him  from  the  position  he  held.  His 
mobile,  easy,  and  delicate  face  was  turned  towards  the  meagre 
but  noble  figure  of  Caermarthen,  in  whom  he  recognised  his 
chief  enemy.  Indeed,  that  statesman,  who,  as  Lord  Danby,  had 
himself  narrowly  escaped  the  attacks  of  Jack  Howe  in  the  last 
Parliament,  was  endeavouring  to  stir  up  the  present  Commons 
to  impeach  Halifax. 

"  His  Majesty,"  added  the  Lord  Privy  Seal,  in  his  pleasant, 

tolerant  voice,  "  is  very  discontented  with  all  of  us." 

172 


THE  KING  AT  BAY  173 

Shrewsbury — a  duke  now,  and  crowded  with  dignities  beyond 
his  years — blushed. 

"  What  are  we  to  do  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  kind  of  frantic  way. 

The  other  Secretary,  Nottingham,  dark  as  a  Spaniard  and 
sour  in  expression,  remarked  briefly — 

"  We  can  do  nothing  until  we  see  which  way  the  Parliament 
moveth." 

"  The  Parliament,"  said  Caermarthen,  "  will  do  nothing  until 
some  satisfaction  is  given  for  the  money  voted  to  Ireland.  Schom- 
berg,  I  doubt,  is  doited ;  he  hath  not  moved  since  he  landed " 

"  The  King,"  put  in  Halifax,  "  is  desperate  to  go  to  the 
Continent,  where  the  allies  clamour  for  him  and  King  Louis 
gaineth  headway  every  week " 

Caermarthen  sprang  up  from  the  window-seat. 

"  By  God,  he  cannot  go  abroad  until  Ireland  is  settled  ! "  he 
cried ;  "  the  country  will  not  stand  any  war  but  that " 

"  The  King,"  answered  the  Lord  Privy  Seal,  "  hath  such  a  mind 
to  France  one  would  think  he  took  England  but  on  the  way " 

"  France,"  said  Shrewsbury,  with  feverish  anxiety,  "  is  not  the 
question ;  we  have  to  think  of  England.  War  was  declared  last 
May,  and  we  are  still  incapable  of  putting  a  single  regiment  in  the 
field.  By  Heaven,  the  Government  is  too  disjointed  for  us  to 
interfere  in  foreign  affairs  !  " 

"You  should  have  thought  of  that,  my  lord,"  answered 
Nottingham  dryly,  "  when  you  put  a  foreigner  on  the  throne." 

A  deep  colour  again  flushed  Shrewsbury's  beautiful  face. 

"  I  judged  from  His  Majesty's  reputation  that  he  would  have 
done  better,"  he  murmured. 

"  His  Majesty  is  a  great  man,"  said  Halifax  placidly. 

Caermarthen  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Is  it  the  kind  of  greatness  that  will  help  England  ?  " 

"  Or  your  party  to  places,  my  lord  ?  "  retorted  the  Lord  Privy 
Seal  shrewdly. 

Caermarthen's  thin  face  darkened. 

"  His  Majesty  doth  not  know  his  friends,"  he  said. 

"  He  will  not  be  a  party  leader,"  returned  Halifax ;  "  but  I  do 
doubt  whether  England  .will  be  ever  governed  save  by  factions " 

Shrewsbury  came  up  to  the  table  and  looked  round  the  faces 
of  his  colleagues.  He  was  by  far  the  youngest  of  the  company, 


174  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

and  his  soft  good-looks  were  incongruous  to  the  importance  of  his 
position ;  Lord  Godolphin,  a  quiet,  thin  man,  who  so  far  had  not 
opened  his  lips  or  taken  any  notice  of  anything,  nsw  fixed  his  eyes 
on  Shrewsbury,  and  kept  them  there  keenly  while  the  Duke  spoke. 

"  Sirs,  what  is  to  be  done  ?  We  have  very  good  assurance 
that  the  Government  cannot  hold — nay,"  he  added,  with  increasing 
agitation,  "if  King  James  were  to  land  to-morrow,  who  would 
stay  him  from  the  throne  ?  " 

"  His  Majesty,"  said  Lord  Godolphin  quietly. 

Caermarthen  caught  the  words. 

"His  Majesty!  I  have  little  faith  in  him  now;  he  is  a 
dying  man " 

"The  doctors,"  added  Nottingham  gloomily,  "give  him 
another  year " 

"No  more,  I  truly  think,"  said  Halifax  calmly.  "The 
Dutchmen  themselves  say  they  hardly  know  him  for  the  man  he 
was  at  The  Hague " 

"  What  then  ?  "  cried  Shrewsbury,  in  a  desperate  frankness. 
"Are  we  all  to  fall  into  the  laps  of  women  and  my  Lord 
Marlborough  ?  " 

"  The  Queen  could  never  hold  the  throne,"  answered  Halifax ; 
"she  is  not  loved,"  he  smiled;  "the  people  dislike  her  for  her 
false  position " 

"  By  God ! "  interrupted  Caermarthen  hotly ;  "  what  know  you 
of  Her  Majesty  ?  She  would  rule  better  than  any  Stewart  hath 
done  yet " 

"Maybe,  and  wed  another  foreigner,"  retorted  Shrewsbury. 
"  Besides,  I  think  you  are  wrong.  No  woman  could  rule  England 
now " 

"  Nor  any  man,  it  seemeth,"  smiled  Halifax  sadly.  "  For  my 
part  I  am  weary  of  all  of  it — and  so,  I  think,"  he  added,  "  is  His 
Majesty.  He  is  greatly  angered  that  the  Bill  of  Indemnity  is 
changed  into  a  Bill  of  Pains  and  Penalties,  and  there  are  such 
heats  over  it " 

"What  course  doth  he  think  to  take?"  asked  Shrewsbury 
abruptly. 

"  He  said  very  little  to-day,"  answered  Halifax.  "  Our  talk 
was  all  of  business ;  he  is  of  an  extraord  nary  industry,"  this  with 
admiration,  "  and  hath  mastered  the  details  of  the  government 


THE  KING  AT  BAY  175 

already.  Were  he  a  stronger  man  I  should  have  no  fear  for 
England " 

"  Talk — antic  talk  ! "  cried  Caermarthen  impatiently ;  "  and 
are  no  nearer  a  solution " 

The  sound  of  the  opening  of  the  heavy  carved  door  caused 
them  all  to  pause.  Godolphin,  who  was  the  only  one  facing  it, 
rose  respectfully ;  the  others  turned. 

It  was  the  King. 

His  bright  glance  went  from  face  to  face.  He  came  slowly  to 
the  head  of  the  table,  and  seated  himself  in  the  wand-bottomed 
chair  there ;  his  ministers  were  on  their  feet  waiting  for  him  to 
speak.  Surprised  as  they  were  by  this  unexpected  appearance, 
their  agitation  showed  in  their  faces,  Shrewsbury  in  particular 
was  colourless;  only  Lord  Godolphin  remained  perfectly  com- 
posed. 

The  King  continued  to  look  from  one  to  the  other ;  he  wore 
a  heavy  brown  velvet  thickly  braided  with  gold,  and  held  in  his 
right  hand  a  paper  written  upon,  and  folded  across. 

"  Affairs,"  he  said,  in  his  tired  voice,  with  his  peculiar  short 
manner  of  speaking,  "have  reached  a  crisis,  my  lords,  and  I 
have  come  to  acquaint  you  with  my  resolution." 

He  leant  forward  a  little,  and  rested  his  right  arm  on  the 
table,  keeping  his  dark,  powerful  eyes  fixed  on  these  ministers 
whom  he  read  so  perfectly. 

"  My  lords,"  he  continued  quietly,  almost  gently,  "  it  is  a 
year  since  I  took  up  the  government  of  this  country,  and  in  that 
time  I  have  done  nothing  to  please  any  one  of  you."  He  coughed 
and  pressed  his  handkerchief  to  his  lips.  "  I  have  done  my  best 
to  govern  justly,"  he  added  proudly,  "  but  I  confess  I  took  up  a 
task  beyond  my  powers.  My  lords,  I  cannot  rule  a  disaffected 
country  with  disaffected  ministers.  I  admit  I  do  not  understand 
you.  As  I  am  often  reminded,  I  am  a  foreigner." 

The  five  nobles  made  a  common  movement  as  of  painful 
expectation  The  King's  plain  speaking  took  all  words  from  them ; 
Shrewsbury  was  painfully  agitated. 

"  What  doth  Your  Majesty  propose  ?  "  asked  Halifax  anxiously. 

The  King  opened  out  the  paper  on  the  dark  walnut  table,  and 
laid  his  right  hand  on  it.  He  wore  round  this  wrist  a  bracelet  of 
red  glass  or  crystal,  cut  into  facets,  that  caught  and  threw  back 


i;6  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

the  light ;  it  gleamed  now  strongly  through  the  thick  Bruges  lace 
of  his  ruffles. 

"  I  mean,"  he  said,  "  to  resign  the  crown  and  return  to 
Holland — where  I  am  needed,"  he  added  strongly. 

"  My  God ! "  exclaimed  Caermarthen ;  the  rest  were  silent. 

The  King  surveyed  their  changed  and  utterly  amazed  faces 
with  a  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

"My  convoy  is  in  readiness,"  he  said,  "and  here,  my  lords, 
is  the  speech  in  which  I  announce  my  intention  to  Parliament" — 
he  glanced  at  Sidney  Godolphin — "my  lord,"  he  added  with 
dignity,  "will  do  me  a  last  service  and  correct  my  poor 
English " 

Caermarthen  broke  out  passionately — 

"  Sir,  you  cannot  know  what  you  are  saying — this  is  unheard 
of " 

"  I  know  very  well  what  I  am  saying,  my  Lord  Marquess," 
answered  William.  "  I  cannot  please  you,  but  I  think  the  Queen 
can.  I  believe  you  would  be  faithful  to  her — she  is  English; 
but  as  for  me,  you  can  manage  your  business  better  without  me 
— and  I  am  needed  on  the  Continent." 

He  rose,  and  Halifax,  rather  pale,  came  up  to  him. 

"  What  is  to  become  of  England  if  Your  Majesty  leaveth  us  ?  " 

"  The  Queen  will  please  you,"  repeated  William. 

"This  action  on  the  part  of  Your  Majesty  will  mean  chaos," 
cried  Shrewsbury  desperately. 

The  King  smiled  sternly. 

"  No  confusion  could  be  worse  than  what  we  now  endure — 
perhaps  alone  ye  can  put  it  straight." 

They  looked  at  each  other.  In  their  hearts  they  all  knew  that 
the  King,  and  the  King  alone  held  them  together  and  kept  them 
from  France  ;  to  the  Whigs  his  departure  would  mean  ruin,  and 
among  the  Tories  there  was  not  one  man  capable  of  undertaking 
a  tithe  of  what  the  King — who  had  foreign  affairs  exclusively  in 
his  hands — performed. 

"What  is  Your  Majesty's  reason  for  this  bitter  resolve?" 
cried  Caermarthen. 

"I  am  needed  in  Holland,"  said  William.  "I  have,  my 
lord,  my  lifework  to  do.  There  are  certain  things  put  to  my 
hand  for  me  to  accomplish,  and  I  have  pursued  them  through 


THE  KING  AT  BAY  177 

too  many  difficulties  to  be  thwarted  now  by  the  disputes  of  the 
English  Parliament " 

He  spoke  with  a  sudden  force  that  lashed  them. 

"  I  took  this  crown,"  he  added,  holding  his  hand  to  his  breast, 
"  that  I  might,  with  God  His  help,  put  England  in  her  ancient 
place  among  nations,  not  that  I  might  lose  myself  in  heated 
factions  and  blind  animosities." 

"If  Your  Majesty  desert  us  we  are  all  undone,"  said 
Caermarthen  passionately. 

"  Ah,  my  lords,"  answered  William,  "  I  am  not  of  a  nature  to 
be  the  puppet  between  your  parties.  God  gave  me  a  disposition 
different — I  cannot  mix  in  these  your  politics." 

His  cough  interrupted  him;  he  gave  a  little  shudder,  and 
sank  back  into  the  walnut-backed  chair. 

"  There  are  some  things  beyond  a  man's  strength,"  he  said 
hoarsely,  "and  I,  hampered  as  I  am,  cannot  govern  England." 

"I,"  cried  Halifax  sincerely,  "have  tried  to  help  Your 
Majesty " 

"And  what  is  your  reward?"  asked  William  quickly. 
"  Parliament  is  so  pressing  on  you,  my  lord,  that  I  shall  have 
to  forego  your  services — what  is  any  honest  man's  reward  in  this 
country?  As  angry  dogs  ye  rend  each  other.  My  God,  will 
there  never  be  an  end  to  these  dissensions  ?  " 

He  crushed  the  rough  draft  of  his  speech  up  in  his  hand  and 
flung  it  on  the  table. 

"  There  is  my  answer  to  this  question,"  he  said,  and  made  to 
rise  again,  but  Shrewsbury  came  forward  and  cast  himself  on  his 
knees  before  him. 

"  I  entreat  Your  Majesty  to  consider — to  reflect — to  spare  us, 
to  spare  this  unhappy  country " 

The  King  looked  wildly  but  not  unkindly  into  the  fair, 
agitated  young  face. 

"  I  cannot  do  what  you  want  of  me,"  he  answered.  "  Every- 
thing I  do  displeaseth — I  stand  for  toleration  and  ye  will  have 
no  manner  of  toleration — hath  not  the  Indemnity  Bill  become  a 
Bill  of  Pains  and  Penalties  ?  Is  not  Parliament  busy  looking  up 
charges  of  twenty  years  ago  against  men  of  position  ?  Is  not  the 
Church  crying  out  against  the  Dissenters,  and  the  Dissenters 
against  the  Papists?" 

12 


178  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

They  were  all  silent ;  Shrewsbury  on  his  knees  by  the  King's 
chair. 

"  As  to  the  civil  government,"  continued  William,  "  ye  know 
perfectly  well  what  corruption  is  there.  For  the  last  two  reigns 
every  honour  in  the  gift  of  the  Crown  hath  been  put  up  to  sale 
with  women  and  priests  for  brokers — I  can  trust  no  one  save,  of 
course,  yourselves,  my  lords,"  he  added,  with  a  faint  sarcasm. 
"  There  is  neither  honesty  nor  industry  nor  credit  in  any  depart- 
ment of  the  administration.  I  can  do  no  more." 

Lord  Godolphin  came  forward  from  the  window ;  he  was 
known  to  be  higher  in  favour  with  the  King  than  any  there,  and 
the  others  waited  with  a  silent,  anxious  curiosity  for  him  to  speak. 

"  I  think  Your  Majesty  will  change  your  resolution,"  he  said, 
with  sudden  warmth,  "  for  the  sake  of  Europe." 

"  For  the  sake  of  Europe,  my  lord,  I  shall  persist  in  it." 

Sidney  Godolphin  looked  straightly  at  the  King. 

"  No — Your  Majesty  is  not  the  man  to  shirk  difficulties — bear 
with  us  a  little." 

"  My  lord,"  answered  William,  "  if  all  were  as  you  I  should 
have  no  difficulties — rise  up,  my  lord  of  Shrewsbury ;  this  is  not 
your  fault." 

The  Duke  got  to  his  feet  and  retired  to  the  deep  window- . 
seat ;  he  appeared  utterly  overwhelmed. 

"  I  undertook  to'serve  a  King,"  said  Godolphin,  deeply  moved. 
"  Let  me  resign  that  service  while  you  are  still  my  King — if  Your 
Majesty  becomes  Prince  of  Orange  I  become  a  private  gentleman. 
I  pray  Your  Majesty  accept  my  resignation." 

"  And  mine,  sir,"  added  Halifax. 

"  I  hope  that  you  will  serve  the  Queen,"  replied  William  ;  he 
leant  back  in  his  chair  and  his  face  was  colourless  against  the 
red  brocade  cushion. 

"  It  was  to  Your  Majesty  I  swore  obedience,"  said  Godolphin 
firmly. 

"  I  set  you  free  of  those  oaths — all  of  you,  my  lords — my 
convoy  waiteth  at  Gravesend.  In  Holland  I  can  be  of  service — 
not  here."  He,  with  infinite  weariness,  sat  up  and  took  his  speech 
from  the  table.  "Take  this,  my  lord."  He  held  it  out  to  Lord 
Godolphin. 

The  minister  went  on  one  knee. 


THE  KING  AT  BAY  179 

"  I  cannot  be  a  party  to  this,"  he  said.  "  Your  Majesty  must 
forgive  me — but  I  cannot " 

The  blood  rushed  into  the  King's  thin  cheek. 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?"  he  cried  passionately.  "You 
know  I  do  not  shirk  labour.  I  have  worked  like  a  government 
clerk  since  I  have  been  in  London,  and  I  am  well  used  to  it — 
but  it  is  no  use." 

Godolphin  answered  him  with  equal  passion. 

"  Is  all  this  labour  to  come  to  nothing,  sir?  If  Your  Majesty 
giveth  up,  there  will  be  no  heart  in  any  of  us — everything  will 
fly  asunder,  and  we  be  unprotected  for  the  French  and  Irish  to 
overrun.  Your  presence,  your  Dutch  troops  alone  keep  order. 
Without  you  we  are  lost  again,  and  worse  than  we  were  before 


"Your  Majesty  cannot — Your  Majesty  must  not,"  cried 
Caermarthen. 

Shrewsbury  raised  his  face ;  he  was  trembling,  and  weeping 
softly. 

"  God  in  heaven  ! "  he  whispered,  under  his  breath. 

Nottingham  looked  at  him  with  contempt. 

"Will  Your  Majesty  forsake  your  friends?"  he  asked 
sombrely.  "Where  do  we  stand  if  Your  Majesty  resigns  the 
position  we  asked  you  to  accept?" 

"  Sir,"  said  Halifax  firmly,  "  the  Prince  of  Orange  cannot  go 
back  on  what  he  hath  undertaken." 

William  leant  forward,  resting  against  the  table;  his  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  and  he  gave  a  short  cough  as  if  he  caught  his 
breath. 

"  You  ask  too  much  of  any  man — to  rule  this  country  under 
the  disadvantages  that  whelm  me,"  he  said  faintly.  "  I  was  not 
made  to  be  cabined  in  these  small  factions— — " 

"  We  cannot  do  without  Your  Majesty,"  said  Halifax  sharply. 
"  Are  all  your  glorious  deeds  and  achievements  to  end  in  this,  sir  ?  " 

The  King  put  his  hand  before  his  eyes  and  sobbed  heavily. 

"  O  God,"  cried  Godolphin,  in  bitter  distress,  w  what  pass  is 
here  ?  "  He  turned  on  the  others.  "  Is  this  to  what  we  have 
brought  the  Prince  who  saved  us  ?  " 

The  tears  were  in  his  own  eyes,  and  his  voice  was  broken. 

Halifax  spoke  to  Caermarthen. 


1 8o  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"This  is  like  of  be  the  end  of  us,  my  lord,"  he  remarked. 
"Cry  'finis' !  for  the  play  is  over  now." 

The  King  continued  to  weep ;  his  whole  frail  figure  was 
shaken  with  his  passion.  The  last  cold  daylight  was  over  his 
gold  broideries  and  the  crimson  bracelet  round  his  wrist 
Caermarthen  was  pacing  to  and  fro  in  a  kind  of  frenzy. 

" What  is  to  do  ! "  he  asked  himself.  "What  is  to  do ! "  and 
he  clutched  the  cambric  ruffles  on  his  bosom. 

Godolphin  again  dropped  on  his  knees  before  the  King  and 
took  William's  cold  left  hand  to  his  lips. 

"  Your  Majesty  will  not  leave  us,"  he  murmured,  in  a  quiver- 
ing tone. 

The  King  lifted  his  great  eyes,  blurred,  yet  bright,  with  tears. 

"  If  I  stay,"  he  answered,  "  it  is  on  certain  terms — I  will  not 
be  the  puppet  of  factions."  He  stopped,  exhausted ;  he  composed 
himself  and  flushed  feverishly;  his  speech  was  interrupted  by 
continual  and  painful  coughing.  "  I  will  not  be  a  party  to  perse- 
cution." He  clenched  his  thin  hand  on  the  smooth  curved  arm  of 
his  chair ,  and  spoke  with  a  force  and  energy  that  gripped  and 
almost  frightened  his  listeners.  "  A  measure  must  be  passed  to 
prevent  it — and  I  must  go  to  The  Hague  next  spring." 

"  Ireland "  began  Caermarthen. 

William  caught  up  the  word. 

"  I  will  go  to  Ireland — since  ye  think  so  much  of  that  wretched 
country  I  will  get  it " 

Even  in  the  midst  of  their  relief  that  they  had  moved  him 
the  ministers  were  shaken  at  this  resolution. 

"  Your  Majesty  cannot  be  spared  from  London,"  exclaimed 
Halifax. 

"I  shall  prorogue  Parliament  before  I  leave,"  answered 
William  fiercely.  "  That  or  nothing,  my  lords.  I  do  not  stay  here 
to  be  King  Log " 

They  bowed  before  his  terms  as  they  had  done  in  the  crisis 
of  '88 ;  only  Shrewsbury,  who  saw  the  downfall  of  his  party  in 
the  prorogation  of  a  Whig  Parliament,  made  a  feeble  protest. 

"  Fever  is  epidemic  in  Ireland — the  health  of  Your  Majesty " 

"You  fear  to  lose  me,  my  lord,  before  I  have  served  your 
turn ! "  was  struck  out  of  the  King ;  then  he  amended  his  con- 
tempt, for  he  was  ever  fond  of  Shrewsbury.  "It  is  the  only 


THE  KING  AT  BAY  181 

thing  to  do — if  the  reduction  of  Ireland  is  necessary  before  the 
Continental  Campaign — I  must  go."  He  looked  sharply  round. 
"  Gentlemen,  do  you  take  these  terms — will  you  unite  to  help  me 
to  them  ? " 

"  We  have  no  choice,"  said  Lord  Godolphin,  and  he  tore  the 
draft  of  the  King's  speech  across. 


CHAPTER   III 
THE  BEST  OF  LIFE 

IT  was  early  May ;  the  King  was  walking  in  his  park  at 
Kensington,  with  his  friend,  William  Bentinck,  Earl  of 
Portland. 

It  was  the  eve  of  his  departure  for  Ireland ;  he  had  yesterday 
prorogued  Parliament,  and  laughed  a  little  as  he  related  the  dis- 
comfiture of  the  Whigs  at  his  speech. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  be  under  canvas  again,"  he  added.  "  For 
myself  it  will  be  a  holiday,  but  I  pity  the  poor  Queen."  He 
repeated  with  great  tenderness — "  the  poor  Queen  ! " 

"  How  doth  she  take  your  going  ?  "  asked  the  Earl. 

"Ah,  heavily — what  have  I  brought  her  but  affliction? — 
sometimes  I  think  of  that " 

He  spoke  sadly,  and  pressed  Bentinck's  hand. 

"Be  good  to  the  Queen,"  he  said  wistfully.  "As  you  love 
me,  William,  help  the  Queen  when  I  am  not  here.  ...  I  think 
women  have  the  harder  part." 

"  I  have  great  faith  in  her  courage  and  wisdom,  sir,"  said  the 
Earl. 

"  There  is  no  woman  like  her,"  answered  the  King,  under  his 
breath.  He  added  aloud,  with  a  flashing  smile,  "  As  there  is  no 
friend  in  the  world  like  you ! " 

"  Ah,  sir,"  cried  Portland,  much  moved,  "  you  ever  flattered 
me." 

He  was  not  so  reserved  as  the  King  nor  yet  so  demonstrative. 
William  could  express  by  word  and  letter,  strong  passion,  but 
this  was  not  possible  to  William  Bentinck.  Devotion  to  his 
master  was  the  motive  power  of  his  life,  but  he  could  not  say  so. 

The  King  again  pressed  his  hand  affectionately.     They  were 

walking  under  limes,  and  hawthorns  white  with  blossom.     The 

183 


THE  BEST  OF  LIFE  183 

sky  shone  cloudy  blue,  and  the  pale  English  sunshine  was  over 
the  young  grass. 

William  looked  round  him  with  the  sick  eyes  of  exile ; 
thoughts  of  Holland  tugged  so  sharply  at  his  heart  that  he  gave 
a  little  suppressed  sound  of  pain. 

"What  of  this  Crone  and  Fuller  plot?"  asked  Portland 
suddenly. 

"I  am  sorry  to  leave  that  on  the  Queen  her  hands,"  said 
William  quietly ;  "  but  I  do  not  think  it  serious." 

"  Some  great  men  are  implicated  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it." 

Portland  hesitated  a  moment,  then  said — 

"  Nottingham's  spies  intercepted  letters  to  St.  Germains,  he 
saith — who  were  they  from  ?  " 

"People  of  no  station,"  answered  the  King.  "Nottingham 
is  over  zealous." 

"  And  you,  sir,  are  over  easy." 

William  smiled  at  him,  and  seated  himself  on  a  wooden  bench 
under  one  of  the  limes. 

"That  is  an  old  complaint  between  us,  is  it  not?"  he  said 
kindly.  "  Dear  lord,  let  it  be " 

Portland  smiled  also ;  he  was  not  satisfied ;  he  stirred  his 
cane  among  the  scattered  hawthorn  flowers  and  his  fair  face 
hardened.  After  a  little  he  asked  his  dismissal,  and  turned 
towards  Kensington  House. 

The  King  remained  alone  in  the  park,  sitting  a  little  droop- 
ingly ;  he  hardly  ever  held  himself  erect  now ;  he  had  shifted  his 
sword-belt  so  that  the  weapon  was  across  his  knees,  and  he  held 
pommel  and  point  of  the  scabbard  with  his  bare,  delicate  hands ; 
his  clothes  were  dark  and  plain ;  he  wore  high  riding-boots  and 
a  beaver  with  a  great  plume  of  white  feathers.  So  still  he  sat, 
and  so  shaded  was  his  figure  in  the  deep  glowing  shadow  cast  by 
the  lime  boughs  of  budding  foliage,  that  a  young  man  coming 
moodily  along  the  path  was  upon  him  before  he  noticed  that 
any  sat  there. 

"  Ah,  sire  ! "  he  exclaimed,  in  confusion,  and  pulled  off  his  hat. 

William  looked  up  at  him ;  it  was  the  Duke  of  Shrewsbury. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  my  lord.     I  wished  to  speak  to  you." 

"  I  was  about  to  seek  an  audience  of  Your  Majesty." 


184  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

Shrewsbury  was  in  a  painful  agitation,  further  increased  by 
this  sudden  meeting  with  the  King,  utterly  unlocked  for.  It  was 
rare  to  find  William  at  leisure  or  on  foot. 

The  King's  deep  eyes  regarded  him  sadly  and  kindly. 

"Was  it  to  a  second  time  offer  your  resignation?"  he 
asked. 

Shrewsbury  went  crimson  under  his  powder ;  he  seemed  to 
find  it  difficult  to  maintain  even  a  show  of  composure. 

"  Yes,  Your  Majesty,"  he  answered. 

"  Very  well,"  said  William  quietly.  "  I  am  sorry  that  you 
will  not  serve  me  till  my  return  from  Ireland." 

"  Sire,  my  health,"  murmured  the  Duke  faintly — "  I  have  had 
a  fall  from  my  horse — I  am  not  fit." 

Still  holding  his  sword  in  both  hands,  the  King  rose. 

"  My  lord — is  that  your  sole  reason  ?  "  he  asked  gently. 

The  blood  ebbed  from  the  young  man's  soft  face;  he 
answered  with  an  effort. 

"  My  sole  reason,  Your  Majesty." 

William  continued  to  fix  his  eyes  on  him. 

"  My  lord,  when  did  you  last  see  Roger  Fuller  ?  " 

Shrewsbury  shivered ;  he  stammered  painfully. 

"  I — I — do  not  know — the  fellow " 

"  I  take  your  word,  my  lord,"  said  William  gravely. 

He  dropped  his  sword,  and  laid  his  hand  with  a  gentle  dignity 
on  the  young  man's  heaving  shoulder. 

"  Remember  I  trust  you,"  he  added  quietly. 

"Sir,"  cried  Shrewsbury,  through  pale  lips — "what  is  your 
meaning — do  you  think " 

"  I  think  that  you  are  a  man  of  honour,"  said  William. 
"You  have  given  me  your  word,  and  I  trust  you.  Remember  it." 

"Your  Majesty,"  began  the  Duke  wildly,  "I  never 
meant " 

"  Hush,"  interrupted  the  King.  "  I  know  nothing.  Take 
care  of  your  health,  my  lord." 

He  touched  his  hat  and  moved  on.  The  young  Duke  looked 
after  him  with  eyes  of  agony,  then  stumbled  wretchedly  away 
through  the  trees. 

William  proceeded  slowly  to  the  privy  garden,  which  was  full 
of  stocks,  pinks,  wallflowers,  aloes,  and  early  roses. 


THE  BEST  OF  LIFE  185 

He  found  the  Queen  and  Lady  Nottingham  seated  in  front 
of  a  great  bush  of  box  clipped  into  the  shape  of  a  peacock. 
Between  them  was  a  length  of  yellow  silk  that  they  were  sewing 
with  blue  beads  in  little  crosses  and  stars. 

At  the  King's  approach  Lady  Nottingham  rose  and  retired 
with  a  courtsey.  Mary  looked  after  her  kindly. 

"  She  is  a  sweet  lady — I  like  her  vastly,"  she  said. 

"  You  find  most  ladies  sweet,  do  you  not  ?  "  answered  the 
King  ;  he  seated  himself  beside  her  on  the  bench,  and  took  up 
the  end  of  silk  Lady  Nottingham  had  laid  down. 

"  I  have  spoilt  your  work.  But  I  wished  to  tell  you  some- 
thing, Marie." 

Mary  glanced  at  him  anxiously ;  she  was  slightly  pale,  and 
wore  a  black  scarf  wrapped  round  her  head  and  shoulders  ;  her 
petticoat  was  striped  red  and  frilled  at  the  foot,  her  over-gown 
dark  blue  and  spread  round  her  in  circling  folds  of  glittering 
silk.  For  all  the  sombre  heaviness  of  this  stately  dressing  she 
looked  very  young — sad,  also,  for  all  the  desperate  gaiety  to 
which  she  was  continually  nerved. 

The  King  looked  about  him  to  see  that  they  were  not  over- 
heard, then  said,  in  a  low  voice — 

"  I  have  accepted  my  Lord  Shrewsbury  his  resignation." 

Mary  waited,  catching  her  breath. 

"He,"  continued  William,  "hath  tampered  with  His  late 
Majesty." 

The  Queen  gave  a  little  sound  of  distress,  and  dropped  her 
sewing. 

"  Shrewsbury  ! "  she  whispered. 

"I  have  sure  proof  of  it,"  said  the  King.  "I  am  sorry  for 
him,"  he  added  simply;  "and  for  myself,  it  something  moved 
me,  for  I  ever  liked  my  lord." 

Mary  flushed  and  clenched  her  hands  on  her  lap. 

"  How  base  every  one  is,"  she  cried,  and  the  angry  tears 
glittered  in  her  eyes. 

"  There  is  not  much  honour  in  England,  Marie.  Have  a  care 
of  all  of  them — particularly  of  that  knave" — he  spoke  with 
strong  force — "that  villain,  my  Lord  Marlborough " 

"  Need  he  be  of  the  Council  ?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"  Child,  he  is  the  best  soldier  in  England,  and  if  I  was  to 


1 86  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

leave  you  a  Council  of  honest  men  they  could  not  be  of  this 
nation — trust  none  of  them." 

"  God  help  me,"  said  the  Queen.  "  I  know  not  how  I  shall 
support  myself  when  you  are  not  here — but  how  weak  I  am  to 
talk  thus — my  part  is  little  compared  to  yours." 

She  smiled  with  a  pitiful  brightness,  and  the  King,  looking  at 
her,  flushed  as  if  he  had  been  hurt  and  suppressed  the  pain. 

"Talk  no  more  of  this,"  he  said  quickly — "in  this  little  time 
we  have  together " 

Mary  laid  her  hand  on  his. 

"  How  pale  the  sunshine  is — not  thick  and  golden  like  The 
Hague — the  flowers  seem  so  different  too;  is  not  that  a  silly 
fancy  ?  "  She  smiled  again,  and  her  voice  quivered. 

"  You  are  not  happy  here,  Marie." 

She  answered  hastily. 

"  Happy  wherever  I  have  your  dear  company — but  I  confess 
I  am  a  coward  without  you — but  God  is  greater  than  our  hopes, 
our  fears,  our  desires ;  He  knoweth  best." 

When  her  soft  voice  ceased  the  only  sounds  were  those  of 
water  running  in  the  lead  basin  of  a  fountain  hidden  somewhere 
behind  the  alleys  of  wych-elm,  and  the  occasional  distant  blows 
of  a  hammer  from  the  workman  engaged  on  the  scaffolding  of 
Kensington  House. 

She  spoke  again  at  last,  her  white  fingers  tightening  over  his. 

"I  wonder  if  you  will  ever  rest — if  achievement  will  ever 
come — at  last,  if  you  will  ever  think  your  work  done " 

"  How  can  I  ?  "  he  answered.  "  That  is  my  sole  excuse  to 
live — that  there  is  something  for  me  to  do — and  I  am  so  used  to 
work  I  think  I  could  not  rest " 

"  It  hath  been  hard — hard  and  long,"  said  Mary.  "  You  must 
be  so  weary  of  it  all — the  lying,  the  treachery,  the  weakness,  the 
opposition,  the  delays,  the  disappointments " 

The  King  smiled  faintly. 

"  Yet  I  have  done  something " 

"  So  much  ! "  exclaimed  Mary  proudly.  "  But  I  do  long  for 
you  to  have  some  leisure  now  ...  for  both  of  us  ...  to  be 
alone,  at  last " 

"  When  the  war  is  over " 

She  interrupted  gently. 


THE  BEST  OF  LIFE  187 

"  When  the  war  is  over !  Alas  ! "  She  shook  her  head.  "  So 
long  still  to  wait."  She  smiled.  "I  would  that  you  had  not 
been  a  great  man,  dear — but  just  a  simple  citizen."  She  laughed 
charmingly.  "  And  we  would  live  at  The  Hague  always  and  have 
a  great  garden  where  you  should  grow  '  La  Solitaire '  for  the 
thousand  gulden  prize — and  I  would  polish  all  the  furniture 
myself — and  I  could  call  you  'Willem'  then  before  all  the 
world,  and  we  should  have  long  days  together  .  .  .  and  you 
would  read  of  great  events  in  the  Gazette  and  never  want  to 
mix  in  them,  and  I  should  laugh  at  those  unhappy  kings  and 
queens " 

Her  husband  looked  at  her  in  silence. 

"So  you  see  I  am  a  good  housewife,  no  more!"  she  con- 
tinued, in  a  kind  of  wild  gaiety.  "  Alas,  I  have  no  brains  for 
business ! " 

"  I  have  thought,  too,"  said  William,  "  that  I  would  like  to  be 
a  mere  gentleman  watching  events,  not  guiding  them ;  but  these 
thoughts  are  beneath  us — and  idle  visions." 

" Idle  visions  !"  repeated  the  Queen.  "And  you  must  go 
to  the  war  again — Death's  target — and  I  must  stay  behind  and 
keep  my  countenance !  I  am  such  a  poor  weak  fool ! "  she 
added,  in  bitter  self-reproach. 

The  King  raised  her  head  and  pressed  it  against  his  heart. 

"  That  kind  of  fool  I  could  never  have  done  without,"  he 
said  impetuously.  "  If  I  have  ever  achieved  anything,  the  credit 
is  to  you,  my  dearest,  my  dearest " 

He  dropped  her  hand,  and  abruptly  broke  his  speech. 

"  What  more  can  I  want  than  to  hear  you  say  that  ?  "  answered 
Mary.  "  Only  love  me  and  I  can  bear  anything " 

The  King's  brilliant  eyes  rested  on  her  pale  but  smiling  face ; 
he  spoke  slowly,  and  his  tired  voice  was  hoarse  and  unequal. 

"  When  I  was  a  boy — a  youth — I  was  so  proud,  so  self-con- 
fident. ...  I  remember  I  thought  I  was  capable  of  anything — 
I  took  my  inexperience,  my  handful  of  soldiers,  into  the  field 
against  France — against  Condd  !  I  had  been  very  much  alone, 
and  so  learnt  reserve  that  I  had  almost  lost  the  power  of  expres- 
sion— I  was  also  very  unhappy — I  think  I  had  no  support  in 
the  world  but  my  pride — I  thought  God  had  elected  me  to  be 
his  Captain " 


188  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

He  paused,  but  Mary  did  not  speak.  Only  the  little  gurgle 
of  the  unseen  fountain  broke  perfect  stillness. 

"  I  remember,"  continued  William,  "  the  first  time  I  went  to 
Middleburg  and  heard  the  people  shout  for  me — and  saw  the 
Town  Council  bowing.  ...  I  never  had  felt  so  lonely.  Twenty 
years  ago — and  I  have  greatly  changed,  but  in  a  fashion  I  have 
kept  the  vows  I  made  then  to  God — I  have  not  turned  back  from 
defending  His  Faith — but  that  was  before  He  pleased  to  humble 
me  by  constant  defeat.  I  was  so  confident,  Marie !  Ah,  could 
I  recapture  that  exaltation  of  the  morning  it  would  all  be  so 
easy — I  felt  so  glad  of  what  I  had  to  do — but  now ! " 

He  raised  his  hand  lightly  and  lightly  let  it  fall ;  his  profile 
was  towards  the  Queen  now,  and  his  gaze  directed  towards  the 
English  hawthorns  that  showed  above  the  box  hedge  of  the 
privy  garden. 

"  But  though,"  he  added,  "  it  hath  all  darkened  since  then, 
I  think  God  meant  me  to  go  on — for  He  sent  you,  my  wife  .  .  . 
and  you  are  the  one  thing  that  hath  never  failed  me." 

She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  sat  trembling ;  the  little 
tray  of  blue  beads  fell  from  her  lap,  and  they  were  scattered  over 
the  gravel  path. 

"  If  I  am  not  good  at  gratitude,"  said  the  King  haltingly — 
"  yet  believe  me — while  you  are  there  I  can  endure  anything. 
After  all,  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  for  me  but  you  and 
Holland,  and  while  I  have  both  why  should  I  complain  of  any 
difficulties  ?  " 

Mary  raised  her  face. 

"  If  I  could  think  I  made  that  difference  to  you  !  "  she  said. 

"  You  have  given  me  the  best  of  life,"  he  answered  gravely. 


CHAPTER   IV 
THE  SECRET  ANGUISH 

IN  that  ancient  palace  called  Hampton  Court,  on  the  banks 
of  the  Thames,  the  Queen  of  England  walked  through 
the  rooms  that  were  rebuilding,  and  tried  to  subdue  her 
soul  to  peace. 

The  King  was  at  the  war  in  Ireland,  and  she,  with  the  aid 
of  the  nine  councillors — men  divided  by  personal  spites  and 
party  differences — was  ruling  England  through  a  bitter  and 
desperate  crisis. 

Mary,  a  woman  and  utterly  unused  to  business  (though 
she  had  always  taken  an  intelligent  interest  in  politics),  yet 
found  all  these  men,  on  whose  wisdom  she  was  supposed  to 
rely,  peevish  and  silly.  Marlborough  was  using  her  sister  to 
stir  up  opposition  against  the  Government, — she  strongly  suspected 
him,  Godolphin,  and  Russell  of  having  made  their  peace  with 
King  James;  Caermarthen  she  personally  disliked;  the  Crone 
and  Fuller  plot  had  proved  to  be  a  widespreading  affair,  in 
which  there  appeared  every  possibility  of  her  uncles  being 
involved ;  the  country  was  denuded  of  troops,  and  the  fleet  in 
disorder;  the  treasury  empty,  and  the  French  threatening  the 
Channel. 

These  were  the  first  few  moments  of  leisure  the  Queen  had 
known  since  her  husband's  departure;  she  was  eager  to  have 
Hampton  Court  ready  for  his  return,  and  so  had  come  eagerly 
to  see  the  progress  of  the  rebuilding  and  alterations. 

Here  again  she  was  met  with  difficulties  and  humiliations. 
Mr.  Christopher  Wren,  the  architect,  was  in  want  of  money, 
the  workmen  were  unpaid,  the  contractors  refused  to  deliver 
any  more  Portland  stone  on  credit. 

Mary  had   no   money,  and  knew  not  where  to  get  it;  she 

189 


GOD  AND  THE  KING 

soothed  Mr.  Wren  as  best  she  could,  and  desperatel  re- 
solved that  these  debts  should  be  paid ;  the  thought  of  them 
was  an  added  vexation.  She  felt  there  was  a  kind  of  meanness 
in  so  lacking  money,  and  that  the  rebuilding  of  Hampton  Court, 
which  had  been  her  one  pleasure,  was  a  reproach  and  a  mistake. 

M.  de  Ginckle  had  written  to  her  from  Ireland  that  they 
were  so  straitened  in  the  camp  that  the  King  had  refused  to 
sign  for  wine  for  his  own  table,  and  was  drinking  water  with 
the  men. 

Mary  thought  of  this  passionately  as  she  surveyed  the 
unfinished  building  the  grumblers  declared  such  an  unwarranted 
luxury,  and  remembered  the  noble  fortune  William  had  lavished 
on  the  public  cause. 

Under  some  pretence,  she  slipped  away  from  her  ladies 
and  Mr.  Wren,  and,  with  a  wild  longing  to  be  alone,  made  her 
way  to  some  of  the  old  deserted  Tudor  rooms  of  the  palace, 
opened  now  for  the  first  time  for  perhaps  fifty  years. 

In  the  wing  in  which  Mary  found  herself  there  were  near 
a  hundred  chambers,  and  she,  new  to  the  palace,  was  soon  lost 
in  the  maze  of  apartments. 

She  was  wildly  glad  to  be  alone,  to  drop,  for  a  moment, 
the  mask  of  composed  gaiety  that  she  ever  kept  over  her 
anxiety. 

Door  after  door  she  opened,  and  room  after  room  she 
traversed,  until  she  reached  a  little  winding  stairway  that  led 
to  a  chamber  in  one  of  the  fine  red  turrets  with  the  graceful 
decorated  chimney-stacks  that  Sir  Christopher  was  so  calmly 
destroying. 

Stairway  and  chamber  were  both  covered  with  thick  white 
dust;  the  bolts  on  the  door  were  rusty  and  loose;  there  was 
no  furniture  save  an  old  rotting  chest,  rudely  carved ;  but  the 
walls  were  beautifully  panelled  with  oak  in  a  linen  pattern,  and 
the  low  lancet  window  disclosed  a  perfect  view. 

Mary  went  straight  to  it,  leant  her  sick  head  against  the 
mullions,  and  gazed  over  the  fair  prospect  of  unkept  garden, 
field,  meadow,  and  river,  all  shimmering  under  a  July  sun. 
The  Thames  showed  argent  gold  between  banks  of  willow  and 
alder;  stretches  of  daisies,  buttercups,  clover,  and  poppies 
reached  to  distant  groves  of  elm,  oak,  and  beech. 


THE  SECRET  ANGUISH  191 

In  the  nearer  glades  deer  wandered  in  and  out  of  the 
sweeping  shadows,  and  the  air  was  soft  with  the  whispers  of 
the  ringdove. 

Such  a  different  England  this  seemed  from  that  England 
shown  in  London,  so  far  removed  from  war  and  discord, 
danger  and  alarm. 

The  lonely  young  Queen  felt  her  own  desolation  heightened 
by  the  solitude ;  she  became  almost  afraid  of  the  silence. 

When  she  reflected  that  the  person  who  was  everything  to 
her  was  distant,  exposed  to  many  perils,  that  her  father  was 
opposed  to  him  in  battle,  that  the  great  responsibility  of 
government  was  intrusted  to  her,  and  that  she  had  no  one  on 
whom  she  could  rely  or  even  to  whom  open  her  heart  (for 
William  Bentinck  had,  after  all,  been  summoned  to  Holland), 
she  felt  a  melancholy  creep  over  her  spirit  that  was  near  despair. 

The  sun  was  warm  on  the  sill  where  her  hand  rested  and 
on  her  cheek;  she  leant  a  little  farther  out  of  the  narrow 
window,  that  had  neither  glass  nor  casement,  and  fixed  her  eyes 
on  the  pulsing  flow  of  the  river. 

A  little  sound  behind  her  caused  her  to  turn  quickly  with 
a  nervous  start. 

Before  a  small  worm-eaten  inner  doorway  that  she  had  not 
noticed  stood  a  comely  child  of  five  or  six  years,  gazing  at  her 
intently.  The  colour  fluttered  into  the  Queen's  face;  they 
stood  staring  at  each  other — the  woman  and  the  child — as  if 
they  were  both  afraid. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  asked  Mary  coldly,  after  a 
second. 

The  child  did  not  answer ;  he  had  as  little  expected  to  see 
this  tall  young  lady  in  the  fine  blue  gown  as  she  had  expected 
to  see  him. 

"  You  have  no  business  here,"  said  Mary,  in  the  same  tone ; 
"  this  is  private.  Go,  find  your  people." 

And  she  turned  towards  the  window  again  so  that  she  could 
not  see  him. 

He  answered  now. 

"  I  have  lost  my  way." 

"There  are  the  stairs,"  said  Mary,  without  looking  round. 
"Go  down  there,  and  you  will  find  your  way." 


192  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

There  was  silence,  and  she  waited  a  little ;  then  looked  over 
her  shoulder  to  see  him  still  standing  there,  staring  at  her. 

"Why  don't  you  go?"  she  asked  harshly.  "You  are  not 
allowed  here." 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  am,"  he  replied.  ."Father  said  I  could  go 
where  I  liked." 

"Who  is  your  father?" 

The  child  laid  a  delicate  ringer  on  the  smooth  carving  of  the 
wall. 

"  He  maketh — these,"  he  explained. 

"A  carver,"  said  Mary.     "Is  he  working  here?" 

"Yes,  ma'am.  We  come  every  day;  there  is  another  little 
boy  —  you  are  the  mother  of  the  other  little  boy?"  he 
questioned. 

"  No,"  said  Mary  coldly. 

"He  isn't  here  to-day,"  remarked  the  child  rather  sadly. 
"  When  he  is  we  go  out,  because  he  is  a  bigger  boy  than  me. 
If  you  had  been  his  mother  I  thought  you  might  have  taken 
me  out." 

"  Your  father  can  take  you  out." 

"Father  is  working  with  Master  Wren.  Do  you  know 
Master  Wren?" 

"Yes." 

"He  goeth  up  and  down  in  a  basket  outside  the  house. 
Once  I  went  too,  and  he  held  me  so  tight  that  it  hurt  He 
is  too  old  to  play  with." 

He  came  a  little  farther  into  the  room,  eying  Mary  wistfully. 
She  was  stately  as  well  as  tall,  and  the  high  lace  commode  she 
wore,  and  the  stiff  arrangement  of  her  heavy  curls,  further  added 
to  her  dignity.  The  child  looked  at  her  in  some  awe. 

"  Are  you  cross  with  me  ?  "  he  asked  gravely. 

"  No,"  answered  the  Queen — "  no — but  your  father  will  be 
looking  for  you — best  go  and  find  him." 

"I  have  lost  my  way,"  he  said,  subdued  by  her  coldness. 
"  I  was  asleep  in  there."  He  pointed  to  the  little  sunny  annexe 
to  the  turret  from  which  he  had  come.  "  I  am  glad  I  met  you, 
ma'am." 

"Why? "asked  Mary. 

The  child  smiled,  in  an  effort  to  win  her. 


THE  SECRET  ANGUISH  193 

"  I  get  frightened  when  I  am  alone,"  he  said.  "  Don't  you, 
ma'am  ?  " 

"Sometimes,"  answered  the  Queen  ;  she  bit  her  lip  and  fixed 
her  narrowed  brown  eyes  on  the  boy;  he  was  fair,  and  rather 
delicate,  and  wore  a  shabby  suit  of  red  tabinet. 

He  slowly  and  reluctantly  moved  towards  the  narrow  dark 
stairs. 

"  I  wish  this  house  was  finished,"  he  said  plaintively.  "  It 
is  so  large.  The  King  will  live  here,"  he  added.  "  I  saw  the 
King  talking  once  to  Mr.  Wren." 

Mary  gave  him  no  encouragement  to  stay,  but  he  still  lingered 
by  the  rotting  door,  that  swung  back  against  the  wall,  and  looked 
at  her  with  wide,  puzzled  eyes. 

"I  am  going  now,"  he  said  at  last;  his  hands  went  to  his 
cravat,  which  was  sadly  knotted.  "  Would  you  tie  this  for  me 
first?  Father  don't  like  me  to  look  untidy." 

"  Come  here,"  said  Mary. 

He  came  at  once  and  stood  before  her. 

"  I  don't  think  I  can  do  it,"  said  the  Queen  unsteadily. 

She  took  hold  of  the  scrap  of  cambric  awkwardly,  while  he 
obediently  held  his  head  up ;  but  her  cold  fingers  bungled,  and 
the  bow  was  clumsy. 

"  I  can't  do  it,"  she  murmured. 

"  You  are  so  tall,  ma'am  ! " 

She  looked  into  his  upturned  face. 

"Too  tall  to  be  so  stupid,"  she  answered,  and  untied  the 
bow.  "Have  you  a  mother?"  she  asked  suddenly,  holding  his 
shoulder  gently. 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"  Ah,  poor  soul ! " 

She  spoke  so  sadly  that  he  was  distressed. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  of  what  we  both  have  missed,"  said  Mary 
gently. 

His  bright  eyes  were  bewildered.  The  Queen  drew  him  to  the 
old  chest,  seated  herself  there,  and  again  tied  the  cravat. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  she  asked,  as  she  smoothed  it. 

"James,   ma'am — it  was   the  King  his  name  when  I  was 
born,"  he  added  proudly. 
13 


194  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

Mary  drew  a  quick  breath. 

"But  you  serve  King  William." 

"  I  know,"  he  answered  dutifully.  "  He  is  a  soldier,  father 
saith.  I  would  like  to  be  a  soldier,  ma'am." 

Mary  smiled ;  though  she  had  done  with  his  cravat  she  still 
kept  her  hands  lightly  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Not  a  wood-carver  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Father  saith,  '  Better  be  a  soldier  these  days — there  is  no 
living  else,' "  he  quoted  wisely. 

"  There  is  time  enough  to  decide,"  said  Mary  softly ;  her 
ringed  right  hand  timidly  caressed  his  hair,  scarcely  touching  it. 
"  Have  you  many  toys  ?  " 

"No,  ma'am." 

"  Do  you  care  for  them  ?  " 

He  considered. 

"  Books,"  he  said,  with  a  little  frown,  "  that  you  can  tear  the 
pictures  out  of — pictures  of  fights,  ma'am — and  blackamoor's  teeth." 

"  What  are  they  ?  "  asked  Mary,  gazing  earnestly  at  him ;  she 
spoke  with  a  catch  in  her  breath. 

He  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket  and  produced  several  cowrie 
shells. 

"  There,  ma'am — they  come  from  far  away."  His  eyes  glittered. 
"  It  would  be  good  to  be  a  sailor,  would  it  not,  ma'am  ? " 

"You  are  a  grave  child,"  said  Mary;  she  drew  him  softly 
nearer  to  her,  and  bent  her  beautiful  pale  face  near  to  his.  "  You 
pray  for  the  King,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"  On  Sunday,  ma'am." 

"  Pray  for  him  whenever  you  say  your  prayers — and  for  the 
Queen." 

He  nodded. 

"The  poor  Queen ! "  he  said. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  "  asked  Mary,  startled. 

"Master  Wren  said  those  words  —  like  that  —  'the  poor 
Queen ! '  ma'am." 

Mary  stared  at  him  intently ;  her  arms  tightened  about  him. 
Suddenly  she  pressed  him  up  to  her  bosom,  where  his  little  head 
rested  patiently  among  her  thick  laces. 

"The  poor  Queen!"  she  whispered  wildly,  and  drew  him 


THE  SECRET  ANGUISH  195 

closer,  till  he  was  half  frightened  by  the  force  of  her  embrace  and 
the  beating  of  her  heart  beneath  his  cheek. 

"  Oh,  ma'am  ! "  he  cried,  "  I  have  even  dropped  the  blacka- 
moor's teeth." 

She  let  him  go,  and  watched  him  with  desperate  eyes  while 
he  searched  and  recovered  the  gleaming  white  shells  from  the 
dusty  floor. 

As  he  busily  sought  for  one  in  the  shadow  of  the  chest,  a  soft 
whistle  sounded  twice ;  he  sprang  to  his  feet  at  once. 

"That  is  my  father — I  must  go  now,  ma'am." 

The  Queen  held  out  her  hands  appealingly. 

"Will  you  not  kiss  me?" 

He  came  obediently  and  held  up  his  unconscious  face. 

Mary's  lips  touched  his  brow  in  the  saddest  salute  he  was 
ever  like  to  know.  He  did  not  offer  to  return  it,  but  made  a 
little  bow,  and  so  left  her.  She  sat  quite  still,  listening  to  the 
sound  of  his  unequal  footsteps  departing ;  then  she  stooped  and 
picked  up  the  shell  he  had  abandoned. 

She  fancied  that  it  was  still  warm  and  moist  from  his  tight 
clutch,  and  as  she  looked  at  it  the  tears  veiled  her  eyes  and  fell 
on  to  her  trembling  palm. 

"  O  God  ! "  she  cried  aloud,  with  a  passion  that  had  slipped 
her  control.  "  Ye  had  no  right  to  make  childless  women  ! " 

She  flung  the  shell  from  her,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands, 
while  the  painful  sobs  heaved  her  body. 

She  had  not  long  even  the  comfort  of  lonely  weeping,  for  the 
sound  of  voices  and  footsteps  coming  up  the  narrow  stairs  caused 
her  to  rise  heavily,  with  a  start  of  self-reproach. 

It  was  her  secret  boast  that  she  had  not  allowed  a  tear  or  a 
sigh  to  escape  her  in  public  since  the  King  had  gone.  She  dried 
her  poor  tired  eyes  hastily,  and  bit  her  lips  to  steady  them,  while 
she  thrust  her  sorrows  back  into  her  heart  with  that  placid 
courage  that  never  failed  her.  She  descended  the  stairs  and  faced 
the  people  who  were,  she  knew,  looking  for  her. 

She  was  not  prepared  to  see  Lord  Nottingham,  whom  she  had 
left  at  Whitehall ;  the  sight  of  him  among  her  attendants  caused 
her  to  pause  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  You,  my  lord  ! "  she  cried  faintly. 

His  dark  face  showed  obvious  relief  at  her  appearance. 


196  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"I  have  been  searching  for  Your  Majesty,"  he  said,  with 
some  reproach.  "  I  have  ridden  hot  after  Your  Majesty  from 
London " 

"There  must  be  grave  news,"  said  Mary,  knowing  that 
otherwise  he  would  not  have  come  himself. 

"There  is,  Madame — the  gravest." 

Mary  raised  her  head ;  she  was  perfectly  composed. 

"  From— the  King  ?  "  she  asked. 

"No,  Madame." 

Mary  smiled  superbly. 

"  Then  it  is  not  the  worst."  She  was  colourless  to  the  lips, 
but  bore  herself  with  majesty.  "What  is  it,  my  lord?" 

Nottingham  was  always  tragical  in  his  discourse,  and  now  his 
face  and  tone  were  gloomy  in  the  extreme. 

"  Madame,  M.  de  Waldeck  and  the  allies  have  been  defeated 
at  Fleurus,  M.  de  Tourville  and  the  French  fleet  have  been  spied 
under  full  sail  for  the  coast  of  Devon.  There  is  no  relying  on 
our  sailors — there  is  a  panic  in  the  city." 

The  Queen's  eyes  flashed  with  something  of  her  husband's 
look  when  fronted  with  disaster. 

"We  will  to  London,"  she  said — "there  to  face  these 
misfortunes." 


CHAPTER  V 
A  WOMAN'S  STRENGTH 

THE  council  of  nine  was  sitting  at  Whitehall  waiting  for 
news  from  the  English  Fleet,  which,  under  command  of 
Lord  Torrington,  had  sailed  out  from  Plymouth  to  meet  the 
French. 

The  Queen  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  as  usual  silent  and 
as  usual  watchful ;  at  her  right  hand  Lord  Caermarthen,  at  her 
left  Lord  Devonshire,  the  others  along  the  table,  and  at  the  foot 
Sir  John  Lowther. 

The  room  was  very  handsome  :  the  walls  of  varied-coloured 
tapestry,  the  cornices  of  gilt  wood,  and  the  floor  covered  with 
rugs  from  Persia.  Through  the  tall,  majestic  window  might  be 
seen  a  view  of  housetops  and  a  little  turret  with  a  bell  clear 
against  a  sky  of  flaming  summer  blue. 

Mary  was  seated  in  a  heavy  chair  with  crimson  cushions  ;  she 
wore  a  violet  dress  of  stiff  damask  satin  and  a  petticoat  flounced 
with  lace ;  her  arms  were  covered  to  the  wrist  with  ruffles  of 
muslin,  and  she  held  a  long  chicken  skin  fan  with  ivory  mounts 
and  an  emerald  in  the  handle ;  her  shortsighted  and  narrowed 
eyes  dwelt  anxiously  and  critically  on  the  faces  of  these  men  in 
whose  hands  she,  and  England,  lay. 

Facing  her,  Sir  John  Lowther,  commonplace,  courtly,  agitated, 
was  stabbing  the  polished  table  with  a  broken  quill ;  to  his  left 
sat  Edward  Russell,  impatient,  blond,  swaggering;  to  his  right, 
Pembroke,  gentle,  hesitating,  reserved.  Godolphin,  thin  and 
hectic,  was,  as  ever,  mute  and  self-effacing ;  his  companion  was 
the  restless,  feverish,  and  volatile  Monmouth,  extravagantly 
dressed  and  fiery  in  manner. 

Opposite  him  sat  the  gloomy  honourable  Nottingham,  and 

another  man,  an  object  of  peculiar  dislike  and  suspicion  both  to 

197 


198  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

the  King  and  Queen,  John  Churchill,  recently  created  Earl  of 
Marlborough. 

Of  all  the  company  he  was  the  most  remarkable  in  appear- 
ance— young,  tall,  of  extreme  good  looks,  though  florid  and 
flamboyant  in  type,  of  a  calm,  easy,  and  courtly  demeanour,  but 
obviously  not  an  aristocrat  nor  anything  of  a  great  gentleman, 
but  rather  of  a  kind  of  vulgarity,  even  in  his  richly  coloured 
beauty,  and  in  that  different  to  the  other  ministers,  who  were  all 
of  noble  appearance ;  he  was  dressed  in  scarlet  silk  and  wore  a 
very  rich  sword-belt ;  he  sat  opposite  the  window,  and  the  sun- 
light made  his  splendour  glitter. 

My  Lord  Devonshire  was  of  another  and  more  winning  type 
of  handsomeness ;  his  young  face  was  refined  and  delicate  in 
feature,  yet  expressed  an  ardent  strength  and  a  proud  decision ; 
he  looked  continually  at  the  Queen,  and  seemed,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Caermarthen,  to  be  the  only  one  who  had  much 
sympathy  or  regard  for  her  position. 

"  The  conspirators "  began  Nottingham  heavily.  He  was 

drawing  up  a  list  of  the  suspected  names ;  he  had  industrious 
spies,  as  the  Whigs  had  found  to  their  cost. 

"  Well,  my  lord  ?  "  asked  Godolphin  imperturbable.  He  had 
made  his  peace  with  King  James  himself,  but  was  calm  in  the 
knowledge  that  he  had  been  far  too  cunning  to  leave  evidence  of 
it  in  anybody's  hands. 

Nottingham  pursed  his  lips ;  he  added  a  name  to  his  list,  and 
handed  the  paper  with  a  significant  look  to  Russell,  who  shrugged 
and  passed  it  on  to  Monmouth. 

"These  are  people  to  be  put  under  arrest,  are  they  not?" 
asked  that  nobleman. 

"Yes,"  said  Nottingham  dryly.  "Shall  I  leave  that  last 
name?  " 

The  paper  was  now  in  Lord  Marlborough's  hands ;  he  smiled 
serenely,  and  put  up  his  glass. 

Mary  spoke,  and  her  woman's  voice  sounded  strangely  in  the 
council  chamber. 

"What  is  this  name?" 

Marlborough  inclined  with  great  deference  towards  her. 

"  The  Earl  of  Clarendon,  Your  Majesty." 

The  other  councillors  were  silent ;  he  was  the  Queen's  uncle, 


A  WOMAN'S  STRENGTH  199 

and  even  the  most  callous  of  them  felt  some  pity  for  her  dilemma. 
Devonshire  cast  an  indignant  look  on  Marlborough,  whom  he 
hated,  but  nothing  could  put  that  gentleman  out  of  countenance. 

"  I  will  erase  the  name,"  muttered  Nottingham. 

The  Queen  put  out  her  hand  in  a  gesture  to  stay  him. 

11  No,  my  lord.  I  know,"  she  said,  with  great  dignity, 
"and  you  all  know,  that  my  Lord  Clarendon  is  far  too  guilty  to 
be  left  out." 

"A  wise  decision,  Your  Majesty,"  remarked  Marlborough 
calmly. 

She  set  her  lips  in  disdain  of  him,  and  turned  to  the  haggard 
Lord  President  on  her  right.  She  had  never  liked  Caermarthen, 
even  though  she  owed  her  marriage  largely  to  him,  but  she 
softened  to  him  now ;  since  the  King's  departure  he  had  worked 
incessantly.  He  was  in  extreme  ill-health,  and  she  believed  he  was 
loyal. 

"  My  lord,"  she  said,  "  should  we  not  soon  have  news  from 
Lord  Torrington?  It  is  twenty-four  hours  since  he  had  our 
orders  to  fight." 

"  We  are  better  waiting  for  that  news  than  listening  to  it,  Your 
Majesty,"  said  Admiral  Russell  bluntly. 

Mary  knew  that  he  was  largely  inspired  by  professional 
jealousy. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  she  answered,  "  we  will  have  more  trust  in  the  man 
on  whom  the  fate  of  three  kingdoms  dependeth." 

"Madame,"  said  Lord  Devonshire,  "I  do  not  think  Lord 
Torrington  a  man  to  be  intrusted  with  the  fate  of  three  kingdoms." 

Mary  answered  with  animation. 

"  That  censure  hath  been  passed  before,  my  lord — and  at  the 
privy  council — but  since  we  must  trust  my  lord  let  us  pray  God 
he  will  not  fail  us." 

"  He  would  not  like  those  orders  to  fight,"  exclaimed  Edward 
Russell,  who  had  been  the  main  means  of  sending  them.  "  A 
cautious  man ! " 

"  One  who  was  not  cautious  should  have  been  sent  to  urge 
him  ! "  cried  Monmouth,  who  was  angry  that  his  entreaty  to  be 
permitted  to  join  the  fleet  had  been  refused. 

Mary  pressed  her  fan  to  her  lips  and  sat  mute ;  in  truth,  the 
agony  she  endured  was  not  to  be  soothed  with  words.  Her  whole 


200  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

being  was  strung  for  the  arrival  of  the  next  letters,  not  only  from 
Torrington,  who  was  now  the  sole  defence  of  England,  but  from 
Ireland,  where  she  knew  her  father  and  husband  were  rapidly 
approaching  face  to  face. 

"Maybe,"  said  the  Lord  President,  "Torrington  never  got 
Your  Majesty's  dispatch " 

Monmouth,  who  was  discussing  with  Godolphin  the  details  of 
Fuller's  confession  (that  conspirator  having  turned  informer  to 
save  his  neck),  swung  round  violently  in  his  seat. 

"  Dear  Lord  ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Do  you  mean  that  he  may 
be  still  idle  at  St.  Helens?" 

"  It  may  be — the  advice  packets  last  reported  that  he  had  not 
moved,  and  that  M.  de  Tourville  was  beyond  the  Needles." 

"  Oh,  were  I  on  board, "  cried  Monmouth,  "  there  should  be 
a  battle — I  pledge  my  life  on  it !  " 

Mary  was  perfectly  pale ;  she  still  held  her  fan  to  her  lips 
and  sat  silent,  so  motionless  that  it  seemed  as  if  she  scarcely 
breathed. 

"  He  had  positive  orders  to  fight,"  said  Godolphin. 

"Oh,  my  lord,"  answered  Marlborough  sweetly,  "is  it  not 
believed  that  this  invasion  is  in  concert  with  these  plots  among 
the  malcontents  ?  " 

"Do  you  mean  that  Lord  Torrington  is  a  traitor?"  asked 
Caermarthen  bluntly ;  he  gave  Marlborough  a  glance  that  con- 
veyed he  thought  him  one. 

The  Queen  dropped  her  fan  and  clenched  it  tightly  in  her 
right  hand. 

"  Gentlemen,  this  is  no  time  for  these  insinuations,  with  the 
enemy  on  the  coast.  We,"  she  said  proudly  and  courageously — 
"  we  trust  all  those  in  our  service,  and  have  faith  in  God  who 
hath  it  all  in  His  keeping." 

She  paused ;  the  effort  of  speaking  had  brought  the  colour 
into  her  face,  her  eyes  sparkled,  and  the  western  sunlight 
trembled  in  her  auburn  hair.  They  waited  silently,  watching  her 
with  curiosity  and  some  judgment.  She  was  principally  conscious 
of  the  malignant  smiling  eyes  of  my  Lord  Marlborough. 

"  This  is  our  decision,"  she  continued,  with  unfaltering  voice — 
"  that  Admiral  Russell  and  my  Lord  Monmouth  go  down  to  the 
coast,  and  there  join  the  fleet,  and  give  our  commands  to  Lord 


A  WOMAN'S  STRENGTH  201 

Torrington  that,  for  the  honour  of  England,  he  fight  the  French, 
whom  he  must  now  outnumber  since  his  juncture  with  the 
Dutch.  My  lords,  the  council  is  over." 

It  was  the  first  time  that  she  had  given  her  commands  to  her 
advisers,  almost  the  first  time  she  had  announced  her  opinion  on 
their  discussions ;  but  she  left  them  no  chance  to  doubt  that  she 
meant  what  she  said  ;  she  had  the  manner  of  Kings. 

"  Let  these  disloyal  subjects,"  she  added,  pointing  to  Lord 
Nottingham's  list,  "  be  at  once  lodged  in  the  Tower." 

She  rose,  gave  her  hand  to  Lord  Caermarthen,  and  descended 
from  her  high  chair  with  a  soft,  heavy  sound  of  silks. 

"  England  is  Your  Majesty's  debtor,"  said  Lord  Devonshire, 
bowing  low. 

She  answered  with  her  sweet  stateliness. 

"  I  do  what  a  woman  can,  my  lord." 

"Your  Majesty  doth  what  few  women  would,"  said  Caer- 
marthen warmly ;  he  had  for  her  a  real  and  deep  devotion. 

She  turned  as  if  she  would  have  rebuked  his  compliment,  but 
checked  herself  at  sight  of  his  worn  and  ghastly  face,  livid  with 
fatigue  and  anxiety. 

"  I  am  like  your  lordship,"  she  answered  kindly,  "  I  am  fond 
of  my  country." 

He  coloured  with  pleasure,  and  bent  over  her  fine  hand. 

"Now  I  must  go  wait  for. letters."  She  smiled  and  left  them 
with  her  usual  little  formal  salutation. 

Devonshire  looked  round  at  the  other  councillors. 

"  There  is  more  courage  in  that  lady  than  in  most  of  us,"  he 
said  gently.  "  I  did  mark  the  tears  lying  in  her  eyes  even  while 
she  smiled." 

"  She  will  need  her  courage,"  answered  Caermarthen  briefly ; 
"  for  seldom  hath  the  country  been  in  the  pass  it  is  now." 

Mary  had  gone  no  farther  than  the  antechamber  with  the 
French  tapestries  and  crystal  candelabra  when  she  was  met  by 
the  news  that  the  Duke  of  Shrewsbury  required  an  immediate 
audience. 

Her  face  hardened ;  she  could  not  forgive  Shrewsbury  either 
his  secret  treachery  or  the  vexation  he  had  caused  the  King  by 
his  sudden  resignation;  she  hesitated,  then  commanded  his 
presence. 


202  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

When  he  entered  she  was  standing  before  the  great  gilt 
mantelpiece,  very  cold  and  contained. 

"  What  is  the  reason  of  your  coming,  my  lord  ?  "  she  said. 

His  gentle  face  was  flecked  with  feverish  colour  in  the 
cheeks,  he  drew  his  breath  sharply,  his  riding-suit  was  dusty; 
indeed,  he  was  spent  with  rapid  riding. 

"Madam,"  he  answered,  "upon  this  news — that  M.  de 
Tourville  rode  at  the  Isle  of  Wight — I  am  come  at  once  to 
London  to  offer  Your  Majesty  my  services — my  sword " 

"You,  my  lord  !  "  exclaimed  Mary. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  "for  the  second  time  all  I  have  is  at 
the  service  of  His  Majesty." 

She  looked  at  him  steadily  ;  she  could  not  doubt  his  sincerity. 
He  was  again  the  man  he  had  been  in  '88.  Danger  struck  a  fine 
spirit  out  of  him,  she  thought,  and  she  the  more  deplored  his 
miserable  defection  of  late. 

"  Ah,  my  lord,"  she  said  sadly,  "  when  His  Majesty  wished 
for  your  services  you  refused  them " 

"  Then,"  cried  Shrewsbury,  "  the  French  were  not  on  the 
coasts." 

She  saw  in  his  eagerness  a  desperate  remorseful  desire  to 
make  atonement,  and  further  softened. 

"  I  am  in  such  a  strait  that  I  can  refuse  no  offers,"  she  said ; 
"  but,  sir,  I  have  no  work  for  you." 

"Send  me  to  the  Fleet,  Madam — put  me  under  my  Lord 
Marlborough  with  the  army.  I  will  serve  as  a  volunteer — as 
anything " 

"  Had  you  shown  this  spirit  before  His  Majesty  went  to 
Ireland  I  had  been  more  grateful,"  Mary  replied  gently.  "  But 
I  am  glad  to  know  of  your  loyalty,  my  lord." 

"  Madam,  this  is  an  urgent  crisis — there  is  almost  an  open 
panic — as  I  rode  up  from  Epsom,  the  people  came  running  out 
of  their  cottages  crying  that  the  French  were  coming;  in  the 
country  all  are  looking  out  their  arms " 

The  Queen  interrupted. 

"Some,  I  fear,  with  the  design  of  joining  the  invader." 

"Why,  God  forbid  !  "  he  cried. 

"I  have  commanded  the  Guards  down  to  Devon  to  seize 
the  arms  and  houses  of  suspect  persons,"  said  Mary  quietly; 


A  WOMAN'S  STRENGTH  203 

"  and  to-night,  my  lord,  all  the  leaders  of  this  Fuller  plot  will  be 
in  prison — yea,  even  to  my  Lord  Clarendon." 

"Ah  !"  exclaimed  Shrewsbury  sharply. 

Mary  fixed  him  with  a  proud  but  kind  gaze. 

"  There  are  many  others  whose  guilt  I  know  who  have  not 
been  arrested,"  she  said  slowly. 

The  young  Duke  pressed  his  hand  to  the  embroidered  ruffles 
over  his  bosom. 

"Why  is  Your  Majesty  thus  tender  with  these — traitors?"  he 
asked,  in  a  trembling  voice. 

"  It  is  my  policy,"  she  answered  quietly.  "  I  am  only  a 
woman,  and  must  trust  to  instinct.  My  lord,  I  will  ask  your 
advice  about  this  matter." 

"  My  advice  ?  "  he  stammered,  very  pale. 

"  Yes.  Supposing  a  great  nobleman  who  had  finely  served 
His  Majesty  in  '88 — one  whom  His  Majesty  loved  and  trusted — 
had,  in  a  moment  of  weakness,  of  temptation,  betrayed  him, 
and  then,  being  remorseful,  I  think,  left  his  service — supposing, 
I  say,  that  this  gentleman  came  forward  now,  with  offers  of  help, 
should  I  not  trust  him  ?  " 

Shrewsbury  stood  mute. 

"  I  think  I  should,"  said  Mary  softly.  "  He  is  an  English 
gentleman,  and  he  would  not  take  advantage  of  my  great 
difficulties  to  intrigue  against  me ;  he  would  not  take  advantage 
of  my  confidence  to  lead  his  people  to  join  the  French — am  I 
not  right  ?  " 

The  Duke  raised  his  head ;  his  face  was  pitifully  trembling. 

"Your  Majesty's  generosity  would  not  be  misplaced,"  he 
answered  hoarsely. 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  so,  my  lord.     I  may  trust  him,  then  ?  " 

"I  pledge  my  life  you  may,"  said  Shrewsbury  ardently. 

"  Thank  you,  my  lord — I  shall  find  you  at  your  town  house  ?  " 

"  I  shall  wait  there  to  receive  the  commands  of  Your  Majesty." 

Mary  moved  a  little  from  the  mantelpiece  and  held  out  her 
hand. 

Shrewsbury  went  on  one  knee  to  kiss  the  soft  fingers. 

"  I  hope  to  see  you  at  court  once  more,"  she  said,  with  a 
pretty  smile.  "  I  hope  you  will  serve  the  King  again  when  we 
are  through  this  difficult  pass." 


204  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

He  answered  from  his  heart — 

"  I  would  serve  His  Majesty  with  my  life." 

When  he  had  gone  Mary  went  to  the  window,  for  the  light 
was  beginning  to  fade,  and  drew  from  her  waist  a  crystal  watch 
enamelled  with  white  violets. 

It  was  nearly  time  for  her  supper.  She  resided  now  at  White- 
hall to  please  the  people,  and  to  please  the  people  dined  nearly 
always  in  public,  a  practice  the  King  detested  and  could  scarcely 
ever  be  brought  to  do ;  that  penance  was  over  for  to-day,  but  she 
had  other  disagreeable  duties  to  perform. 

She  rang  the  handbell  on  an  ormolu  bureau  between  the 
windows,  and  asked  the  Dutch  usher  who  came  if  Lord  Feversham 
was  without. 

He  had,  it  seemed,  been  long  awaiting  an  audience. 

The  Queen  commanded  him  to  be  brought  to  her,  and  seated 
herself  in  the  yellow  brocade  chair  to  the  right  of  the  fireplace. 

Lord  Feversham,  a  Frenchman,  a  Catholic,  and  Chamberlain 
of  the  Dowager  Queen  Catherine's  household,  entered  with  a 
most  lowly  obeisance. 

Mary  looked  at  him  haughtily. 

"  You  can  guess  the  matter  on  which  we  have  sent  for  you  ?  " 
she  asked,  speaking  in  French. 

"I  fear  I  have  again  fallen  under  Your  Majesty's  displeasure." 

"Both  you  and  your  mistress  are  very  much  in  our  dis- 
pleasure," answered  Mary.  "  It  was  our  duty  to  reprimand  you 
three  days  ago  for  leaving  out  the  prayers  for  the  success  of  His 
Majesty  in  the  services  held  in  Her  Majesty's  chapel,  and  we 
listened  for  near  an  hour  to  your  excuses,  nor  could  make  much 
sense  of  them.  And  now  the  offence  is  repeated." 

"  I  entreat  Your  Majesty  to  believe  that  it  was  an  oversight," 
answered  Feversham  humbly. 

"  Disloyalty  and  insolence  prompts  such  oversights,"  flashed 
the  Queen.  "  We  will  not  take  it,  my  lord ;  for  though  we  may 
be  meek,  yet  we  stand  for  His  Sovereign  Lord  the  King.  Tell 
Queen  Catherine  so,  and  bid  her  to-night  put  up  prayers  for 
the  success  of  my  Lord  Torrington  against  our  enemies  the 
French " 

Feversham  winced,  and  stole  a  startled  glance  at  the  woman 
he  had  believed  to  be  an  amiable  cipher;  the  young  beauty's 


A  WOMAN'S  STRENGTH  205 

demeanour  as  she  sat  stately  and  resolved  in  her  regal  gown  un- 
deceived him. 

"  When  we  rode  abroad  in  Hyde  Park  to-day,"  she  continued, 
"  we  did  note  many  swarming  villains,  French  and  Irish,  who  gave 
us  impertinent  and  joyous  looks  as  if  they  did  anticipate  a 
triumph,  and  maybe  Her  Majesty  thinketh  also  that  she  may  do 
as  she  list  now  M.  de  Tourville  is  in  the  Channel.  But  we  have 
no  fear  of  any  kind  as  to  the  issue  of  these  matters,  nor  shall  we 
be  weak.  Some  great  men  will  lie  in  the  Tower  to-night.  Bid 
your  mistress  take  care." 

She  rose,  and  her  full  height,  with  heels  and  head-dress,  was 
more  than  his.  He  made  as  if  to  speak. 

"There  is  no  more  to  say,"  she  said  coldly,  and  left  him 
discomfited. 

No  news  came,  but  many  rumours  found  their  way  into  the 
crowded  galleries  at  Whitehall,  where  the  anxious  courtiers  waited 
and  endeavoured  to  read  the  situation  in  the  Queen's  face  and 
manner. 

She  baffled  them  all,  both  at  her  supper-table  and  afterwards, 
when  she  sat  down  to  basset  as  usual  in  that  splendid  hall  where 
King  Charles  had  held  his  festivals.  She  was  gay  and  gracious 
and  unconcerned  —  some  even  thought  her  unfeeling.  She 
appeared  to  notice  nothing ;  but  her  eyes  and  ears  were  quick 
for  it  all — the  whispers,  the.  looks,  the  ill-concealed  fears  and 
hopes. 

She  was,  she  knew,  absolutely  alone ;  not  one  of  the  throng 
about  her  could  she  confide  in,  and  very  few  could  she  trust.  She 
suspected  that  many  of  them  were  but  waiting  for  a  slackening 
of  her  courage  to  call  all  lost  and  hasten  to  make  their  peace 
with  James ;  ill  news  from  the  Fleet  or  from  Ireland  might  mean 
instant  rebellion,  she  was  well  aware. 

Meanwhile  she  played  basset  and  made  no  mistake  in  her 
moves. 

When  it  was  near  ten  of  the  clock  Lord  Nottingham  entered 
the  room.  The  Queen's  eyes  at  once  distinguished  him  among 
the  crowd. 

She  continued  dealing  the  cards.  When  he  approached  her 
she  looked  up  with  a  steady  smile. 

Her  lips  shaped  the  one  word — 


206  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"  News  ?  " 

He  placed  a  dispatch  on  the  card-table  beside  her  fan  and 
gloves.  She  saw  at  once  that  it  was  not  from  Ireland,  and  she 
drew  a  breath  between  relief  and  disappointment. 

Her  glance  went  swiftly  round  the  faces  now  undisguisedly 
watching  her,  and  then  she  broke  the  seal. 

While  she  read  her  bosom  heaved,  and  those  nearest  her  saw 
the  colour  faintly  stain  her  face. 

She  folded  up  the  letter  and  rose.  The  ace  of  spades  fell 
from  her  lap  to  the  shining  floor. 

There  was  a  pause  of  silence.  Mary's  eyes  were  the  eyes  of 
a  creature  at  bay. 

"  This  is  evil  news,"  she  said,  at  length,  to  Lord  Nottingham, 
and  a  proud  little  smile  curved  her  lips. 

She  had  just  read  that  Lord  Torrington  had  been  utterly 
defeated  off  Beachy  Head  by  the  French,  who  were  landed  at 
Tynemouth. 

"  What  will  Your  Majesty  do  ?  "  he  asked,  under  his  breath. 
"  The  courier  saith  the  enemy  is  in  possession  of  the  west " 

She  crushed  up  Lord  Torrington's  letter  in  a  passionate  right 
hand ;  she  saw  that  his  defeat  had  been  inglorious.  The  Dutch 
had  been  in  the  van  all  day  and  were  near  annihilated;  the 
English,  mere  spectators,  had  drawn  off  to  Plymouth  almost 
untouched. 

"The  French  are  landed," she  said,  "but  we  English  will  not 
let  them  far  advance.  I  will  call  upon  the  city  of  London 
Summon  to  me  the  Lord  Mayor." 


CHAPTER  VI 
GOD  SAVE  THE  QUEEN! 

ON  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day  after  the  defeat  at  Beachy 
Head,  the  Queen,  who  would  abate  none  of  her  state 
during  this  time  of  anxiety,  but  rather  kept  it  more  splendidly,  as 
a  besieged  general  will  hang  out  all  his  flags  when  his  garrison 
becomes  scant,  so  as  to  defy  and  deceive  the  enemy,  held  court 
in  the  most  sumptuous  gallery  of  Whitehall. 

The  land  was  full  of  panic,  of  terror,  of  mistrust,  but  the 
spirit  of  the  people  had  risen  to  the  need.  The  city  of  London 
had  responded  finely  to  the  Queen's  appeal ;  a  hundred  thousand 
pounds  had  been  paid  into  the  treasury,  she  had  to-day  reviewed 
the  train-bands  in  Hyde  Park  and  received  an  address  assuring 
her  of  the  loyalty  of  the  capital. 

The  spirit  she  showed  made  her  suddenly  popular.  The 
distant  King  and  the  Dutch  were  viewed  with  more  favour. 
Hatred  of  the  French  was  an  emotion  powerful  enough  to  over- 
come all  lesser  dislikes,  and  the  whole  nation,  Whig  and  Tory, 
Protestant  and  Catholic,  shook  with  rage  at  the  part  Lord 
Torrington  had  made  the  British  navy  play. 

It  was  apparent  to  all  the  world  that  he,  irritated  by  orders 
he  conceived  were  devised  by  his  rival  Russell,  had  sacrificed  the 
Dutch,  whom  he  believed  were  so  unpopular  that  no  outcry 
would  be  raised  at  their  destruction,  to  the  English. 

Admiral  Evertzen,  the  admiral  of  the  States,  had,  with  heroic 
valour,  fought  his  ships  all  day  long  against  the  overwhelming 
armament  of  France,  while  the  English  fleet  looked  on,  and  only 
came  forward  at  nightfall  to  tow  the  disabled  Dutch  hulks  away 
and  destroy  them  at  Plymouth, 

Popular  fury  rose  high.  The  London  crowd  would  gladly 
have  torn  Torrington  limb  from  limb.  Mary  sent  him  to  the 

307 


208  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

Tower  and  dispatched  a  special  envoy  to  the  States  with  the 
best  and  most  flattering  apology  she  could  devise;  her  very 
blood  burnt  with  shame  that  her  husband's  people  should  be 
thus  sacrificed  and  her  own  behave  so  basely ;  she  ordered  the 
wounded  Dutch  seamen  to  be  tended  in  the  English  hospitals, 
and  wrote  a  letter  of  compliment  to  the  gallant  Evertgen. 

She  had,  in  every  direction,  done  what  she  could,  and  the 
spirit  of  England  had  responded;  but  the  situation  was  still 
acute,  might  yet  turn  to  utter  disaster,  and  though  people  might 
shout  for  her  in  the  street,  there  was  little  but  enmity,  jealousy, 
and  opposition  among  those  by  whom  she  was  personally 
surrounded. 

Even  her  own  sister  was,  under  the  influence  of  the  Marl- 
boroughs,  her  enemy,  and  the  Catholic  Queen  Dowager  had  no 
love  for  her;  it  was  these  two  women  she  was  watching  as  she 
sat  in  her  lonely  weariness  beneath  a  candelabra  of  fifty  coloured 
candles. 

Anne,  beautiful,  but  stout  and  sullen,  lacking  all  vivacity  and 
charm,  was  making  knots  near  the  gilt  chair  of  the  little  dark 
Portuguese  lady  who  had  been  the  wife  of  the  second  Charles. 

Catherine  very  seldom  came  to  court,  and  would  not  have 
been  there  now,  as  Mary  reflected  with  a  swelling  heart,  had  the 
last  news  been  of  victory  instead  of  defeat. 

The  Princess,  who  lost  no  opportunity  of  vexing  her  sister, 
was  attired  in  the  free  and  gorgeous  costume  of  the  last  two 
reigns,  in  defiant  contrast  to  the  decorous  modes  the  Queen 
had  made  fashionable,  and  Catherine  of  Braganza  wore  a  stiff 
farthingale  of  brown  brocade  sewn  with  pearls. 

Presently  Anne,  becoming  aware  that  Mary  was  watching  her, 
broke  into  challenging  laughter,  which  rang  false  enough  at  this 
juncture. 

Mary  hung  her  head ;  it  seemed  terrible  that  the  wretched 
family  divisions  to  which  she  had  been  forced  to  be  a  party 
should  be  increased  by  this  breach  between  her  only  sister  and 
herself.  On  a  sudden  impulse  she  sent  her  new  maid  of  honour, 
Basilea  de  Marsac,  with  a  message  requesting  Anne's  company. 

The  Princess  tossed  her  head  and  came  reluctantly ;  she  was 
at  no  pains  whatever  to  conceal  her  rebellious  attitude  towards 
the  throne. 


GOD  SAVE  THE  QUEEN!  209 

Mary  greeted  her  gently. 

"It  would  be  more  fitting  if  you  would  give  me  some  of  your 
company,  Anne ;  Queen  Catherine's  sentiments  are  well  noised 
abroad — you  need  not — laugh — with  her  at  such  a  time." 

Anne  sank  down  on  the  other  end  of  the  settee ;  the  ladies 
behind  the  Queen  withdrew,  leaving  the  sisters  alone;  the 
musicians  were  playing  a  monotonous  little  march  in  the  gallery. 

"We  should  display  a  united  front  now,"  continued  Mary 
unsteadily. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Madam,"  answered  Anne 
almost  insolently ;  she  never  used  any  manner  of  respect  to  the 
Queen ;  she  considered  that  she  was  of  as  much  importance ;  she 
never  ceased  to  flaunt  that  she  was  the  mother  of  the  child  who 
would  be  the  future  King  of  England. 

Mary  gazed  at  her  pouting,  overblown  comeliness  with  sad 
eyes. 

"You  will  not  understand,"  she  answered.  "You  take  a 
pleasure  in  doing  everything  contrary  to  what  I  do " 

Anne  smoothed  her  grey  satin  skirt  with  a  plump  white  hand. 

"  Our  tastes  are  different,"  she  said. 

Mary  was  silent.  Anne  kept  her  languid  eyes  downcast,  then 
jerked  out — 

"  I  have  writ  to  the  King  for  the  vacant  Garter  for  my  Lord 
Marlborough.  I  hope  Your  Majesty  will  use  your  influence?" 

Mary  coloured  hotly. 

"  You  have  writ  to  the  King  in  Ireland  on  such  a  matter  ?  " 

"  And  so  hath  the  Prince.  It  is  allowable  to  write  to  the 
King,  I  hope?" 

"  You  should  have  spoken  to  me  first,"  answered  Mary,  with 
trembling  lips.  "  I  have  no  mind  that  the  King  should  be  vexed 
with  these  things.  I  do  not  think  he  meaneth  the  Gartertfor 
Lord  Marlborough." 

Anne  flung  up  her  head  with  a  force  that  set  her  huge  pearl 
earrings  quivering. 

"And  who  better  deserveth  it,  I  should  like  to  know? 
I  suppose  it  is  meant  for  Lord  Portland,  or  some  other 
Dutchman  ?  " 

"  Anne,  you  are  infatuate  to  speak  so.  The  services  of  my 
Lord  Marlborough  have  been  well  rewarded." 


210  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

At  that  Anne  burst  out  with  what  had  evidently  been  her 
secret  grievance. 

"He  is  slighted  on  every  possible  occasion — 'tis  he  who 
should  have  reviewed  the  militia  this  afternoon  ! " 

Mary  turned  angrily. 

"  This  is  my  Lady  Marlborough  her  doing ;  she  put  this  into 
your  head,  Anne,  and  it  is  too  much." 

"Yes,  it  is  too  much,"  answered  Anne,  "that  Your  Majesty 
should  have  such  a  dislike  to  my  friend." 

"  Her  insolence,"  exclaimed  Mary,  "  is  beyond  all  bearing. 
I  have  it  on  good  report  that  she  hath  spoken  of  the  King  with 
great  disrespect." 

"  She  ain't  the  only  one  if  she  hath,"  retorted  Anne.  "  His 
Majesty  ain't  so  popular " 

"  I  command  you  stop,"  said  Mary,  in  a  cold  tone  of  deep 
anger. 

Anne  submitted  sulkily. 

"  La,  I  meant  no  harm." 

"  You  go  too  far,"  answered  Mary  in  a  low  controlled  tone. 
"  His  Majesty  thinketh  it  ungenerous  to  quarrel  with  a  woman,  or 
your  behaviour  would  have  been  put  a  stop  to  before.  I,  perhaps, 
shall  not  be  so  long  enduring.  I  cannot  and  will  not  take  the 
defiance  of  my  Lady  Marlborough — no,  nor  your  incivility  either, 
Anne." 

"  I  don't  suppose  Your  Majesty  would  hesitate  to  clap  me  up 
if  you  dared,"  said  Anne,  lashed  by  the  attack  on  her  favourite. 
"There  is  one  of  your  relations  in  the  Tower,  and  where  the 
uncle  is  the  sister  may  follow ;  but  I  warn  Your  Majesty  that  I 
have  the  Parliament  behind  me " 

Again  Mary  interrupted. 

"  Leave  me  until  you  can  command  yourself." 

Anne  hesitated,  but  the  music  that  had  screened  their  talk 
had  ceased,  and  beyond  a  point  Mary  always  quelled  her.  She 
rose,  courtsied  haughtily,  and  withdrew  to  the  other  end  of  the 
gallery,  where  Lady  Marlborough — a  gorgeous  blonde  shrew  with 
a  vulgar  voice — was  playing  comet  with  Prince  George  for  partner. 

Mary  closed  her  eyes  for  a  second.  This  sordid  quarrel  with 
her  sister,  mainly  based  on  demands  for  money,  was  the  last 
bitterness  of  her  position ;  she  had  tried  every  means  of  concilia- 


GOD  SAVE  THE  QUEEN!  211 

tion  in  vain.  Lady  Marlborough's  hold  on  her  puppet  was  too 
firm,  and  Anne  but  took  advantage  of  any  kindness  from  the 
Queen  to  press 'for  an  addition  to  her  already  huge  allowance. 

The  violins  played  a  gavotte.  Mary  sat  motionless,  listening 
to  the  subdued  volume  of  talk  by  which  she  was  surrounded,  and 
thinking  of  that  far-distant  day  when  she  had  danced  with  her 
husband  in  this  very  room — a  week  or  so  before  her  marriage. 

She  recalled  how  she  had  enjoyed  dancing,  and  wondered  to 
think  how  dead  that  passion  was. 

"  I  used  to  think,"  she  thought,  "  that  a  dance  measure  would 
lure  me  from  my  grave,  and  now  the  gayest  melody  written  will 
not  move  me." 

She  gazed  over  her  shoulder  at  her  reflection  in  the  tall 
mirror  against  the  wall  to  the  left ;  she  beheld  a  fair  image,  in 
yellow  silk  and  diamonds,  with  a  very  proud  carriage.  A  Queen, 
young  and  beautiful — the  description  sounded  like  a  favoured 
creature  from  one  of  those  fairy  tales  she  used  to  read;  she 
knew  the  reality — a  tired  woman,  unutterably  lonely,  estranged 
from  all  her  family,  childless,  and  forlorn. 

Queen  Catherine  came  to  take  her  leave. 

"No  news  yet  from  Ireland?"  she  asked,  in  her  awkward 
English. 

Mary  courteously  rose  before  the  woman  who  had  been 
Queen  in  Whitehall  when  she  was  a  child. 

"None,  Madam." 

The  Queen  Dowager  hesitated  a  moment,  then  said — 

"I  have  not  failed  of  late  to  put  up  prayers  for  His 
Majesty's  good  success." 

"I  thank  you,  Madam." 

Catherine  of  Braganza  pulled  at  her  curling  feather  fan 
and  laughed. 

"We  are  both  in  a  strange  position,  are  we  not?" 

"The  positions  God  put  us  in,"  said  Mary  coldly.  She 
wondered  why  the  other  woman  paused  to  talk. 

The  Queen  Dowager  continued  to  smile  over  her  fan. 

"  I  think  to  go  back  to  Portugal." 

"  That  must  be  as  Your  Majesty  pleaseth." 

"  England  is  no  longer  the  same  to  me." 

Mary's  hand  tightened  on  the  rich  back  of  the  settle.     She 


212  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

read  perfectly  well  the  scorn  of  the  Stewart's  wife  for  the 
usurper  and  the  Protestant. 

"I  find  Whitehall  a  little  dull,"  continued  Catherine,  with 
a  malicious  twist  of  her  lip.  "  Geneva  bands  and  black  coats 
are  a  strange  sight  in  these  halls " 

"  Certainly  they  were  not  seen  here  in  the  days  of  my  Lady 
Portsmouth,"  flashed  Mary. 

The  little  Portuguese  winced  slightly,  but  ignored  the 
thrust. 

"I  do  not  blame  Your  Majesty,"  she  said.  "You  are  not 
so  fortunate  in  your  court  as  I  was;  the  Dutch,"  she  raised 
her  thin  shoulders  in  a  shrug,  "do  not  make  the  best  of 
courtiers " 

"No,"  answered  Mary  impetuously;  "but  they  make  good 
husbands,  Madam." 

Catherine  made  no  attempt  to  turn  this  hit.  She  put  her 
hand  to  her  dark  throat,  and  her  large  melancholy  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  She  answered  the  thought  and  not  the  words. 

"  I  cared  as  much  as  you  do,  all  the  same  ;  "  she  said,  "  and 
I  shall  always  be  a  Jacobite  for  his — worthless — sake." 

"  Forgive  me,"  murmured  Mary  instantly.  "  I  had  no 
right.  But  do  you  be  charitable.  I  am  in  great  trouble, 
Madam,  and  very  much  alone." 

Catherine  lifted  her  small  olive  face  with  a  kind  of  defiant 
brightness. 

"  We  have  that  loneliness  in  common,  Madam.  If  you  or 
I  had  an  heir  it  would  have  all  been  different.  I  shall  say  a 
mass  for  your  husband  his  safety.  Good  night,  Your  Majesty." 

She  swept  her  grave  foreign  courtsey  and  retired,  followed 
by  her  silent  duennas.  Mary  stood  pressing  her  handkerchief 
lo  her  lips,  and  felt  the  whole  pageant  of  people,  lights,  speech, 
music,  swing  past  her  like  reflections  on  troubled  water — broken, 
scattered  without  substance  or  meaning. 

No  news  came. 

She  dismissed  the  Court  presently  and  went  to  her  rooms ; 
it  was  late,  long  past  ten  o'clock,  yet  she  would  not  go  to  bed, 
but  sat  in  her  cabinet  writing  to  the  King.  Sheet  after  sheet 
she  covered  with  news,  hopes,  fears,  love,  entreaties  for  God's 
blessings — all  her  heart  indeed  laid  out  before  her  one  confidant. 


GOD  SAVE  THE  QUEEN!  213 

The  candlelight  hurt  her  eyes,  weaker  of  late  with  work 
and  tears,  and  at  last  she  folded  up  the  letter  unfinished.  The 
express  did  not  go  till  the  morning,  and  she  hoped  that  by 
then  she  might  have  the  long-looked-for  news  from  Ireland. 

When  she  rose  from  her  desk  she  was  utterly  tired,  yet 
could  not  rest — there  was  so  much  to  do. 

Her  letter  to  Admiral  Evertzen,  which  she  had  written 
with  great  pains  in  Dutch,  had  been  returned  as  unintelligible, 
and  now  she  must  write  again  in  English,  which  language  the 
Admiral  understood  perfectly,  it  seemed.  There  was  the  question 
of  the  command  of  the  Fleet  on  her  mind;  Russell  and 
Monmouth  had  been  met  at  Canterbury  by  the  news  of  the 
disaster  of  Beachy  Head,  and  now  were  back  in  London,  hot 
against  Torrington ;  Mary  feared  that  the  King  would  be  vexed 
with  her  for  having  let  them  leave  the  council,  yet  she  must 
again  send  some  one  to  the  Fleet,  now  without  a  commander. 
Her  choice  had  fallen  on  Pembroke,  who  was  an  admiral,  and 
Devonshire,  whom  she  could  trust,  and  thereupon  Caermarthen 
had  taken  umbrage,  and  it  had  been  a  weary  work  of  tact 
and  sweetness  to  prove  to  him  that  he  was  indispensable  in 
London  and  could  not  be  spared — yet  perhaps  she  had  been 
wrong,  and  she  should  have  let  him  go. 

All  these  lesser  anxieties  crowded  on  her  weary  soul,  aching 
with  the  desire  for  news  from  the  King,  and,  as  she  left  her 
cabinet  and  came  into  her  bedchamber,  a  profound  melancholy 
overthrew  her  gallant  spirit. 

Only  two  of  her  ladies  were  up — Madame  de  Marsac  and 
Madame  Nienhuys.  Mary  told  them  to  go  to  bed,  and  cast 
herself  into  the  window-seat  and  pulled  the  curtains  apart 
from  before  the  windows  open  on  the  warm  soft  night. 

"It  is  Your  Majesty  who  should  go  to  bed,"  said  Madame 
Nienhuys  firmly. 

Mary  shook  her  head. 

"I  cannot.     I  cannot  sleep  until  I  get  a  letter." 

"  You  neither  sleep  nor  eat,"  protested  the  Dutch  lady. 

"  I  am  very  well,"  smiled  Mary  sadly.  "  Go  to  bed,  like 
a  good  creature " 

"  Indeed,  Madame,  I  will  not  leave  you  in  this  state." 

"Have  you  been  with  me  so  long  that  you   become   dis- 


214  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

obedient?  Very  well,  put  out  some  of  the  candles — the  light 
hurts  my  eyes." 

Basilea  de  Marsac  rose  softly  and  extinguished  all  the  candles, 
save  those  on  the  mantelshelf.  The  large  rich  chamber  was 
full  of  grateful  shadow.  Mary's  yellow  gown  gleamed  secretively 
like  gold  through  a  veil. 

She  took  the  diamonds  from  her  neck  and  arms  and  gave 
them  to  Madame  Nienhuys.  She  pulled  off  her  rings  slowly, 
and  dropped  them  into  her  lap,  looking  the  while  out  on  to 
the  July  dark,  that  seemed  to  her  to  be  painted  with  the 
menacing  forces  of  war,  flags,  banners  hanging  bloody  to  their 
poles,  the  hot,  smoking  mouths  of  cannon,  the  glitter  of  armour 
through  the  dust — her  husband's  army  and  her  father's  struggling 
together  to  the  death. 

She  rose  so  suddenly  that  the  rings  fell  and  rolled  all  over 
the  floor. 

"  I  think  I  will  go  to  bed  after  all,"  she  said  faintly. 

They  undressed  her  in  silence  and  left  her  wide-eyed  in 
the  great  crimson  bed,  canopied  and  plumed  and  enriched  with 
the  arms  of  England. 

When  they  had  gone  she  lay  for  a  while  quite  still.  There 
was  no  moon,  and  she  could  not  distinguish  a  single  object 
in  the  room,  and  only  uncertainly  the  dim  spaces  of  the  window. 

All  that  had  seemed  small,  petty,  and  wretched  in  the 
daytime  seemed  a  thousand  times  more  mean  and  unworthy 
now.  She  was  haunted  by  the  stiff  little  figure  of  Queen 
Catherine,  whose  personality  had  suddenly  flashed  out  on  her, 
by  the  fair  sullen  image  of  Anne,  and  the  vulgar  enmity  of  Lady 
Marlborough.  She  was  tortured  by  the  idea  that  she  had 
done  everything  wrong.  .  .  . 

She  sat  up  in  bed  and  locked  her  hands  over  her  heart. 

"  I  must  not  despair — God  will  not  let  me  despair,"  she  clung 
to  that  word,  "  God — ah,  He  knoweth  best — He  seeth  what  man 
cannot  see — therefore  He  did  not  give  me  children,  knowing 
I  could  not  have  endured  this  if  their  safety  had  been  at 
stake." 

The  Palace  clock  struck  one.  Like  an  echo  came  the  bell  of 
the  Abbey  Church,  then  the  dead  silence  again. 

The  Queen  rose  from  her  bed  and  made  her  way  lightly  to 


GOD  SAVE  THE   QUEEN!  215 

the  dressing-table.     After  a  little  fumbling  she  found  the  tinder- 
box  and  struck  a  light. 

The  silver  table,  the  enamel,  jade,  and  gold  boxes  glittered 
into  points  of  light.  In  the  depths  of  the  mirror  she  saw  her  own 
face  lit  by  the  little  flame  she  held. 

It  flared  out  between  her  cold  fingers.  She  struck  another 
and  lit  one  of  the  tall  candles  in  the  red  copper  stands. 

By  the  dim  wavering  light  she  found  her  scarlet  shoes  and  a 
little  mantle  of  fox's  fur  that  she  put  on  over  her  muslin  night- 
dress. She  then  took  up  the  candlestick,  which  was  so  heavy 
that  it  made  her  wrist  shake,  and  quietly  left  the  room,  which 
opened  into  the  cabinet. 

Here  she  paused  at  the  red  lac  desk,  unlocked  it  with  the 
gold  key  she  wore  round  her  neck,  and  took  out  a  packet  tied 
with  orange  ribbon. 

These  were  the  letters  she  had  received  from  the  King  since 
his  departure.  She  looked  at  them  tenderly,  took  up  her  candle 
again,  and  passed  on  through  an  antechamber  to  a  private  door 
that  led  straight  into  the  chapel. 

Her  feeble  light  gave  her  glimpses  of  the  lofty  walls  panelled 
in  cedar  wood,  the  majestic  altar  of  white  marble  gilt,  and  the 
great  painting  brought  from  Italy — all  heavenly  blue,  and  deep 
crimson,  and  angelic  faces  breaking  from  rosy  clouds. 

Mary  went  to  the  altar  steps,  set  the  candle  on  the  topmost 
one,  then  fell  on  her  knees  with  her  letters  pressed  to  her  heart. 

As  she  prayed  she  bent  lower  and  lower  till  her  beautiful 
head  touched  the  marble,  and  there  it  rested  while  she  sobbed 
out  her  humble  prayers  for  her  husband,  her  father,  for  England, 
for  her  own  poor  tired  soul. 

She  grew  cold  as  she  lay  across  the  altar  steps,  and  peaceful 
in  her  heart.  She  thought  God  was  not  so  displeased  with  her ; 
a  confidence  rose  in  her  bosom  that  he  would  not  let  His  cause 
fail  though  her  weakness  .  .  . 

A  gentle  confusion  came  over  her  senses,  and  she  fell  into  a 
kind  of  swoon ;  when  this  passed  she  found  that  her  candle  had 
burnt  to  the  socket  and  gone  out,  and  that  a  blue  dawn  was  light- 
ing the  glowing  arms  of  England  in  the  painted  glass  windows. 

She  got  to  her  feet,  shivering  but  calm,  and  went  back 
stealthily  through  the  vast  silent  rooms,  filled  with  the  early 


216  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

sun,  and  so  reached  her  bed ;  and,  for  the  first  time  for  weeks, 
fell  placidly  asleep.  Next  morning  when  she  woke  she  was  very 
silent ;  but,  as  her  ladies  thought,  more  at  ease. 

She  had  hidden  her  letters  under  her  pillow,  and  when  she 
was  dressed  slipped  them  into  her  gown. 

As  she  left  her  apartments  on  the  way  to  the  chapel  she  was 
met  by  Lord  Nottingham. 

The  news  from  Ireland  at  last ! 

"  The  King  is  safe,  Madame,"  said  my  lord,  in  pity  of  her  face. 

She  stood  speechless ;  those  about  her  were  little  less  moved. 
The  silence  hung  heavy. 

"  His  late  Majesty  is  also  safe,"  added  my  lord  delicately. 

She  spoke  then. 

"  I— I  thank  you." 

She  tore  open  her  letters,  but  could  not  read  them. 

"Oh,  tell  me,  sir,"  she  said  hoarsely. 

"  Madame,  the  King  hath  had  a  great  victory  at  Boyne  Water. 
Ireland  is  conquered." 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  bells  broke  out  from  a  thousand  steeples 
and  the  guns  of  the  Tower  boomed  triumph. 

"The  news  is  just  abroad,"  said  Nottingham. 

Mary  flushed  into  a  glorious  exaltation. 

"  The  King  hath  redeemed  us  all ! "  she  cried,  with  inexpress- 
ible pride.  "  The  King  hath  saved  us  ! " 

"  Not  the  King  alone,  Madame,"  answered  my  lord,  with  a 
flush  on  his  shallow  face — "  listen  to  these " 

From  without  came  the  sound  of  wild  joyous  murmurs  from 
the  crowd  that  had  gathered  to  hear  the  news.  As  it  sped  from 
mouth  to  mouth  a  frenzy  of  relief  and  triumph  shook  the  people. 
They  burst  into  one  shout  that  drowned  the  cannon  and  the  bells — 

"  Long  live  the  Queen !    God  save  and  bless  the  Queen  ! " 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  SHADOW 

MR.  MATTHEW  PRIOR,  Private  Secretary  to  the  Earl 
of  Portland,  was  enjoying  the  winter  sunshine  in  the 
gardens  of  Hampton  Court  Palace. 

It  was  the  year  1694,  and  near  Christmas.  Many  vast  events 
had  taken  place  since  the  young  poet  had  been  first  introduced 
to  the  Court  by  my  Lord  Dorset — plots,  counter-plots,  change  of 
ministers,  of  parliaments,  the  defeat  of  Landen  and  Steinkirk,  the 
great  victory  at  La  Hogue,  the  loss  of  the  Smyrna  Fleet,  four 
bloody  campaigns,  four  winters  of  gloom,  depression,  and 
internal  convulsion,  and  still,  as  by  a  kind  of  miracle,  the  two 
lonely  princes  ruling  England  maintained  their  station  and  kept 
their  faces  calmly  to  their  enemies. 

Mr.  Prior  was  a  grateful  soul ;  he  adored  the  King  and  wor- 
shipped the  Queen ;  he  had  berhymed  both  copiously,  and  was 
ever  ready  to  use  his  sword  or  his  wit  in  their  behalf.  The  last 
of  the  King's  unending  differences  with  the  Parliament  was  on 
the  matter  of  the  Triennial  Bill,  and  Mr.  Prior  had  his  tablets 
on  his  knee  and  his  pencil  in  his  hand. 

He  was  engaged  in  composing  a  pamphlet  in  defence  of  His 
Majesty's  action  in  firmly  refusing  to  curtail  the  regal  authority 
by  passing  an  Act  that  permitted  no  parliament  to  sit  longer  than 
three  years. 

But  it  was  cold,  and  the  neat  little  secretary  found  his  fingers 
too  stiff  to  write.  He  returned  his  papers  to  his  pocket,  rose,  and 
walked  on  briskly. 

Both  palace  and  grounds  were  now  very  noble,  being  designed 
closely  after  the  King's  house  at  Loo  :  trees,  thirty-five  years  old, 
had  been  transplanted  either  side  of  a  wide  canal  that  had  been 
cut  opposite  the  Palace;  beds  were  shaped,  walks  laid  down, 

?T7 


218  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

shrubs  cut  after  the  Dutch  style;  every  endeavour  had  been 
used  to  make  the  place  as  much  like  Holland  as  possible.  Even 
now,  in  mid-winter,  topiary  art  had  preserved  monstrous  box 
hedges  and  bushes  in  the  shape  of  windmills,  birds,  and  animals. 

The  day  was  cloudy,  but  the  sun  streamed  through  in  a  fine 
gold  light  on  the  splendid  front  of  the  Palace,  still  unfinished 
but  very  imposing. 

Mr.  Prior  turned  to  the  left,  where  was  the  privy  garden 
directly  beneath  the  royal  apartments,  and  the  covered  walk 
where  the  Queen  would  sit  in  summer  with  her  ladies,  sewing 
and  reading.  There,  too,  was  a  small  sunk  Dutch  garden,  with 
a  fountain  in  the  centre  and  tiled  paths,  bare  now  of  everything 
save  a  few  evergreens,  but  in  the  spring  a  mass  of  blooms  from 
Holland. 

Here  walked  two  ladies  and  a  gentleman,  all  muffled  in  furs, 
and  talking  together  with  some  earnestness. 

Mr.  Prior  took  off  his  hat ;  he  recognized  the  Queen,  his 
patron,  the  Earl  of  Portland,  and  Lady  Temple.  He  was  passing 
respectfully  on  when  Mary  called  to  him. 

He  came  up  to  her,  and  she  paused  to  speak  to  him. 

"  My  lord  tells  me  you  are  just  returned  from  The  Hague  ?  " 
questioned  Mary. 

"Yes,  Madame." 

"  I  envy  you,"  said  the  Queen  wistfully ;  "  it  is,  Mr.  Prior, 
such  a  dream  with  me  to  see  The  Hague  again." 

The  ardent  little  poet  thought  he  had  never  seen  her  look 
so  beautiful.  There  was  an  almost  unnatural  lustre  in  her  eyes, 
an  almost  unnatural  brightness  on  her  lip  and  cheek ;  the  fresh 
wind  had  stirred  the  auburn  hair  from  her  brow,  and  the  fitful 
sunlight  touched  it  to  sparkles  of  red  gold. 

"  The  Hague  liveth  only  in  hopes  of  one  day  seeing  Your 
Majesty,"  he  answered.  "  You  are  most  extraordinarily  beloved 
there,  Madame." 

"They  were  always  very  good  to  me,"  said  Mary  simply. 
"I  still  feel  an  exile  here— but  you  must  not  breathe  that,  Mr. 
Prior,"  she  added  almost  instantly. 

"Are  you  returning  to  Holland?" 

"  Very  soon,  Madame." 

"  Well,"  smiled  Mary,  "  I  hope  that  when  next  I  see  you  it 


THE  SHADOW  219 

may  be  at  my  house  in  The  Hague — for  I  have  good  hopes  that 
I  may  be  free  to  go  there  soon.  Let  me  at  least  flatter 
myself  so." 

She  dismissed  him  kindly  and  continued  her  walk,  keeping 
her  gloved  hand  affectionately  on  Lady  Temple's  arm. 

"  What  is  this  of  the  Duke  of  Leeds  ?  "  she  asked  Portland. 

"They  say  he  is  to  be  impeached  in  the  new  Parliament, 
Madam,  for  taking  money  from  the  East  India  Company." 

Mary  frowned. 

"  That  is  a  hit  at  me,"  added  Portland  calmly. 

"  And  at  the  King,"  she  said  proudly.  "  There  is  no  end 
to  the  spite  of  these  people.  Heard  you  also  that  Sir  John 
Dalrymple  must  go  for  the  Glencoe  affair?" 

"  If  the  Parliament  had  their  way,  it  would  be  his  head  and 
not  his  place  he  lost." 

"  It  seemeth  to  have  been  a  cruel  thing,"  said  Mary,  "  if  it 
is  true?  But  I  am  sorry  for  the  Duke  of  Leeds  (Danby  he 
always  is  to  me)  for  he  has  been  a  faithful  servant." 

"  The  King  would  like  to  employ  Sunderland,  who  lieth  quiet 
at  Althorp,"  said  Portland,  with  some  bitterness.  "  A  villain  if 
there  ever  was  one  ! " 

Mary  glanced  at  him  anxiously. 

"The  King  doth  not  love  Sunderland,"  she  said,  "but  might 
find  him  useful." 

"  Will  he  persuade  His  Majesty  to  pass  the  Triennial  Bill  ?  " 
asked  Lady  Temple. 

"  No  man  can  do  that,"  answered  the  Queen.  "  If  any 
could  have  done  it,  it  would  have  been  your  lord,  a  year  ago — 
but  nothing  will  move  the  King  once  his  mind  is  resolved."  She 
laughed,  and  added,  "  You  both  have  known  him  longer  than 
I  have — tell  me  if  you  ever  knew  him  change  his  decision  ?  " 

"Never,"  said  Portland.  "When  he  was  a  child  he  was 
immovable." 

"  Sir  William  hath  wasted  eloquence  on  him  more  than  once," 
smiled  Lady  Temple. 

The  sun  had  suddenly  gone  in,  and  a  greyness  overspread  the 
gardens. 

"  Let  us  go  in,"  said  Mary. 

They  entered  the  Palace  by  the  private  door  that  led  to  the 


220  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

King's  apartments.  Portland  prepared  to  leave  for  Whitehall, 
where  His  Majesty  stayed  to  open  the  Parliament,  and  the  two 
ladies  went  to  the  Queen's  great  gallery,  that  was  fine  and 
beautifully  furnished,  though  but  ill  heated  by  the  one  fireplace 
where  the  pine  logs  blazed. 

They  joined  the  little  company  gathered  about  the  fire  and 
protected  by  tall  lacquer  and  silk  screens. 

Mary  took  off  her  furs  and  drew  close  to  the  flames.  She 
was  shivering  violently. 

"  The  room  is  too  large,"  she  said,  "  but  a  noble  apartment, 
is  it  not  ?  " 

She  had  taken  great  pride  in  furnishing  Hampton  Court  and 
Kensington  House,  and  in  introducing  and  making  fashionable 
the  arts  and  crafts  of  Holland — the  pottery,  the  brass-ware,  the 
painted  wood,  and  wrought  silver. 

The  ladies  answered  in  eager  praises.  The  Queen's  modest 
court  now  consisted  of  a  set  of  gentle  ladies,  Dutch  and  English, 
who  were  her  constant  companions ;  their  piety,  their  charity, 
their  blameless  lives,  their  industry  with  the  needle,  made  them 
utterly  different  to  the  ladies  of  the  two  last  reigns,  and  set  an 
example  which  had  made  soberness  fashionable,  at  least  in  many 
homes ;  for  Mary  had  won  England  as,  many  years  before,  she 
had  won  her  husband,  and  was  now  nearly  as  beloved  in  London 
as  at  The  Hague — at  least  among  the  common  people. 

One  fashion  she  set  was  a  rage  through  the  country — this  was 
the  collecting  of  strange  and  monstrous  pieces  of  old  china. 

Above  the  yellow  brocade  chair  where  she  now  sat  was  a 
shelf  laden  with  vases  and  figures  of  extraordinary  shapes  and 
violent  colours.  Mary  loved  them  all ;  she  looked  up  at  them 
with  a  little  smile,  then  took  up  the  book  from  which  she  had 
been  reading  to  her  ladies,  but  dropped  it  on  to  her  lap,  and  sat 
with  an  air  of  lassitude,  gazing  into  the  flames. 

"  The  truth  is,"  she  said,  "  I  have  a  great  headache,  and  have 
had  one  this  three  days  past." 

"  It  is  the  wind,"  answered  Lady  Nottingham. 

Mary  shivered. 

"  I  have  taken  cold,  I  think,"  she  remarked.  She  laughed ; 
she  was  more  than  usual  gay. 

She  was  expecting  the  King  in   a  few  days,  and,  for  the 


THE  SHADOW  221 

moment,  the  troubles  and  difficulties  had  a  little  cleared  from 
his  path.  For  the  first  time  since  the  war  began  the  last  campaign 
had  decided  in  favour  of  the  allies ;  the  weight  of  England  was 
beginning  to  tell  in  the  balance.  Mary  could  not  forget  that ; 
it  coloured  her  days  with  pleasure. 

"  I  think  the  ball  will  be  popular,"  she  continued  irrelevantly  : 
"every  one  seemeth  very  pleased " 

"  What  is  the  date,  Madame  ?  "  asked  Lady  Temple. 

"The  twenty-eighth — about  a  week  from  now,"  answered 
Mary.  "  I  am  to  have  a  new  dress  !  "  She  laughed  again  ;  she 
seemed,  for  her,  to  be  very  excited.  "  I  shall  put  it  on  presently, 
and  you  must  judge  of  it." 

She  leant  back  in  her  chair,  and  was  suddenly  silent.  The 
short  day  was  darkening ;  sullen  crimson,  presaging  rain,  burnt 
fitfully  in  the  west,  and  a  gloomy  brightness  reflected  through  the 
windows  of  the  great  gallery,  and  struck  changeful  colour  from  the 
mother-of-pearl  figures  on  the  black  china  screens. 

Mary  coughed  and  shivered.  She  turned  to  Madame 
Nienhuys. 

"  When  is  your  cousin  coming  to  Court  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Not  yet,  Madame.  I  had  a  letter  from  The  Hague  yesterday 
from  her  mother  saying  she  would  send  her  in  the  spring." 

"  Why  not  sooner  ?  "  asked  the  Queen. 

"  She  saith  she  is  frightened  by  the  reports  of  the  plague  in 
London." 

"  They  say  it  is  worse  this  year,"  assented  Mary.  "  And  the 
smallpox." 

"  And  the  smallpox,  Madame.  But  it  is  foolish  of  my  cousin 
to  be  so  timid." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary  gravely ;  "  since  timidity  will  save  no  one. 
God  doth  His  will,  despite  our  fears." 

She  opened  the  work-table  beside  her  and  took  out  a  chair- 
cover  she  was  working  with  a  design  of  birds  and  flowers  on  a 
black  ground.  She  made  a  languid  attempt  to  thread  the  needle, 
then  dropped  the  sewing  as  she  had  the  book. 

"  I  will  try  that  gown  on,"  she  said,  "  and  then  we  will  make 
tea  in  the  little  antechamber — this  is  so  large." 

The  ladies  rose  with  a  pretty  rustle  of  skirts,  folded  up  their 
work,  and  followed  Mary  through  Sir  Christopher's  noble  apart- 


222  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

ments  to  her  chamber,  which  was  very  exactly  furnished  but 
cold. 

On  the  canopied  bed  of  blue  and  yellow  damask  lay  the 
Queen's  new  gown,  and  two  sewing-girls  sat  on  low  stools  and 
stitched  the  lace  into  the  sleeves. 

At  Mary's  approach  they  rose  silently. 

"  How  cold  it  is ! "  shivered  Mary.  "  Put  rne  down  a 
grumbler,  but  we  had  warmer  houses  at  The  Hague." 

"  But  the  dress  is  beautiful ! "  cried  Lady  Nottingham,  and 
the  five  ladies  gathered  about  the  bed  with  exclamations  of 
admiration. 

It  was  of  white  velvet,  embroidered  with  little  wreaths  of 
coloured  silk  flowers  opening  over  a  silver  petticoat  trimmed 
with  flounces  of  lace.  The  sewing-maidens  eyed  it  shyly,  and 
blushed  at  the  compliments  bestowed. 

"  I  must  dance  in  that,"  smiled  Mary.  "  Dancing  used  to 
be  one  of  my  prettiest  pleasures,  as  you  may  remember,  my 
Lady  Temple ! " 

"  Will  Your  Majesty  try  it  on  ?  "  asked  Basilea  de  Marsac. 

"Yes,"  laughed  Mary,  "the  sewing-girls  will  help  me;  get 
you  into  the  other  room  and  make  the  tea " 

The  ladies  trooped  off,  and  the  two  sempstresses  timidly  helped 
Mary  out  of  her  brown  velvet  and  laced  her  into  the  state 
dress. 

A  fire  was  burning,  and  the  Queen  stood  between  it  and  the 
bed,  facing  the  long  glass  mirror  above  the  mantelshelf  that  was 
crowded  with  china  grotesques.  As  they  pinned,  arranged,  and 
draped  the  rich  silk  about  her,  Mary  felt  a  sudden  great  fatigue ; 
her  limbs  were  heavy  beneath  her,  and  she  gave  a  little  sigh  of 
weariness. 

The  dress  was  cut  very  low,  and  one  sleeve  was  yet  un- 
finished, so  her  shoulders  and  left  arm  were  bare  save  for  her 
shift,  and,  as  she  moved  for  her  skirt  to  be  adjusted,  that  slipped. 
The  Queen  noticed  this  in  the  mirror,  and  put  up  her  right  hand 
to  draw  it  up,  when  suddenly  a  deep  shiver  ran  through 
her.  She  stepped  back,  clutching  the  dress  together  on  her 
shoulder. 

"  It  is  too  dark  to  see,"  she  said  levelly.  "  There  is  a  silver 
lamp  in  my  cabinet — will  you  fetch  that  ?  " 


THE  SHADOW  223 

The  sewing-girls  looked  surprised.  The  light  still  held,  and 
there  were  candles  in  the  room;  but  they  left  at  once,  with 
respectful  courtsies. 

The  instant  they  had  gone  the  Queen  sprang  to  the  door 
and  locked  it,  then  went  back  to  the  bed  and  leant  heavily 
against  the  post  nearest  the  fire. 

She  felt  sick  and  weak  ;  her  head  was  giddy. 

"Be  quiet  —  be  quiet,"  she  said  aloud,  and  pressed  her 
clenched  knuckles  against  her  leaping  heart. 

Only  for  a  second  did  this  weakness  endure.  She  returned  to 
the  glass  and  turned  her  chemise  down ;  there  she  saw  again 
what  had  made  her  send  the  sewing-girls  away — a  large  purple 
patch  on  the  white  flesh,  unmistakable. 

For  an  instant  she  stood  gazing,  then  sat  down  in  the 
majestic  arm-chair  beside  the  bed.  There  was  another  test  she 
knew  of — she  winced  from  applying  it,  yet  presently  rose  and 
took  from  a  side-table  near  the  tall  clock  a  rat -tailed  spoon  she 
used  for  rose-water. 

She  put  the  bowl  of  this  far  back  into  her  mouth,  and  then 
withdrew  it ;  the  silver  was  covered  with  bright  blood. 

Footsteps  sounded  without.  Mary  flung  the  spoon  on  to  the 
fire  and  softly  unlocked  the  door. 

The  sempstresses  entered  with  the  silver  lamp,  dutifully  lit 
and  placed  it  on  the  mantelshelf. 

Mary  stood  holding  her  garments  tightly  together  on  her 
breast. 

"  Have  you  ever  had  the  smallpox  ?  "  she  asked  gently. 

They  both  answered  together. 

"Yes,  Your  Majesty;  but  not  the  black  smallpox,  an  it 
please  Your  Majesty." 

Mary  looked  into  their  fair,  undisfigured  faces. 

"No,"  she  answered;  "the  black  smallpox  is  ever  fatal,  is  it 
not " 

"  They  say  so,  Your  Majesty,"  said  the  elder  girl,  pinning  up 
the  lace  on  the  silver  underskirt.  "  And  there  is  a  deal  of  it  in 
London  now,  Your  Majesty." 

Mary  made  no  reply.  They  finished  with  the  dress  and  left 
her,  having  laced  her  into  the  brown  velvet. 

The  Queen  put  out  the  silver  lamp  and  went  into  the  ante- 


224  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

chamber  where  the  ladies  were  chattering  over  the  tea  Lady 
Temple  was  making  in  a  Burmese  silver  urn. 

Mary  seated  herself  near  the  fire. 

"  We  will  go  to  Kensington  House  to-morrow,"  she  said.  Then, 
noticing  Lady  Temple's  look  of  surprise,  she  added,  with  a  slight 
tremor  in  her  voice,  "  I  have  a  fancy  to  be  near  the  King." 


CHAPTER  VIII 
FEAR 

MY  Lord  Sunderland  was  climbing  from  obscurity,  disgrace 
and  infamy  to  that  great  position  he  had  once  held — 
climbing  very   cautiously,   working   secretly,    biding    his    time, 
venturing  a  little  here,  a  little  there,  helped  always  by  my  lady 
and  some  few  ancient  friends. 

The  King  had  been  obliged  to  leave  him  out  of  the  Act  of 
Grace.  He  was,  nevertheless,  at  this  moment  waiting  for  a  private 
audience  of  His  Majesty,  who  had  already  visited  him  in  his 
princely  palace  at  Althorp. 

The  King  had  gone  in  state  to  Parliament ;  my  lord  did  not 
care  to  yet  take  his  seat  in  the  House  on  great  occasions; 
he  preferred  to  wait  in  Whitehall  and  reflect  quietly  on  his 
policies. 

He  believed  that  the  summit  of  his  ambitions  was  about  to 
be  reached ;  he  had  staked  on  William  of  Orange  twenty  years 
ago,  and  had  never  lost  faith  in  him.  The  King  was  not  a  man 
to  be  ungrateful.  Sunderland  saw  close  within  his  grasp  the 
moment  he  had  worked  for  steadily,  unscrupulously,  so  long — 
the  moment  when  William  of  Orange  and  he  should  rule 
England  together. 

From  his  seclusion  at  Althorp  he  had  watched  the  King's 
stormy  reign,  and  known  that  if  he  had  been  at  William's  right 
hand  half  the  troubles  would  have  been  averted  or  smoothed  over. 

He  was  even  scheming  to  make  the  Court  popular;  the 
attitude  of  the  people  towards  his  hero  considerably  annoyed  him. 

It  was  undeniable  that  the  irreproachable  example  of  the 
Court  awoke  in  the  English  more  ridicule  than  respect  or  admira- 
tion ;  they  regarded  with  a  sneer  the  sincere  efforts  of  the  gentle 
young  Queen  to  elevate  and  dignify  her  position,  to  improve  the 
15 


226  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

tone  of  a  corrupt  society.  The  industrious  simplicity  of  the  King, 
his  dislike  of  blasphemy,  evil-speaking,  and  frivolous  amusements, 
his  private  tolerance,  justice,  and  modesty  were  as  so  many  causes 
of  offence  to  a  people  regretting  former  princes  so  much  more 
suited  to  their  temper.  They  missed  the  pageant  that  had  con- 
tinually entertained  them  at  Whitehall,  the  money  that  had  been 
squandered  by  the  Court  in  a  manner  so  pleasing  to  the  national 
extravagance,  the  continual  spectacle  of  the  King  in  the  obvious 
exercise  of  gracious  royalty,  even  the  gay  ladies  whose  histories 
had  diverted  a  generation.  This  humour  provoked  cynical  smiles 
from  William  and  distressed  comment  from  Mary.  Sunderland 
resolved  to  alter  it ;  he  saw  the  truth ;  he  knew  that  nothing  but 
genius  in  the  man  every  one  combined  to  disparage  could  have 
kept  the  nation  together,  and  nothing  but  the  greatest  courage 
and  strength  on  the  part  of  the  woman  they  affected  to  dismiss 
as  a  cipher  could  have  maintained  a  government  during  the 
Irish  war. 

Sunderland  largely  blamed  the  ministers.  Halifax  had  failed, 
Caermarthen  (now  Leeds)  was  failing,  the  others  had  never 
been  really  trusted  by  the  King,  who  relied  mainly  on  secret 
advisers,  such  as  Carstairs,  Temple,  his  Dutch  friends,  and  lately 
Sunderland  himself. 

My  lord  knew  that  he  could  do  better  than  any  of  these ;  he 
had  the  great  advantage  of  understanding  the  King ;  he  even 
believed  that  he  could  make  him  again  as  beloved  in  England  as 
he  had  been  in  '88. 

William  was  no  boor,  but  of  noble  blood  thrice  refined ;  his 
passionate  nature  and  the  constant  control  he  had  put  it  under 
made  him  break  out  fiercely  sometimes  against  the  foolish  and 
the  vexatious ;  he  never  flattered,  and  he  took  no  trouble  to  please 
women;  natural  modesty  and  the  languor  of  ill-health  made  him 
refuse  to  concede  to  the  national  love  of  display ;  but  he  was 
beloved  abroad,  and  Sunderland  believed  he  could  be  beloved 
in  England.  My  lord  resolved  to  persuade  him  to  go  to  New- 
market this  year ;  he  flattered  himself  that  he  had  a  considerable 
influence  over  William. 

He  became  impatient  for  the  King  to  return;  he  went  to 
the  window  and  looked  at  the  surging  crowd  beyond  the  court- 
yard waiting  for  a  sight  of  the  Royal  coach.  It  was  not  likely  to 


FEAR  227 

be  greeted  very  warmly,  for  the  King  was,  a  second  time,  going 
to  veto  the  Triennial  Bill,  a  great  popular  measure  which,  from 
the  first,  he  had  set  his  face  against. 

Sunderland  upheld  him  ;  to  consent  to  the  Bill  would  be  an 
enormous  concession  to  the  people,  and  my  lord  had  no  love  for 
the  democracy,  but,  like  William,  had  a  high  ideal  of  the  rights 
of  the  Crown.  He  took  pleasure  now  in  thinking  of  the  King's 
firm  stand  and  the  disappointment  of  this  crowd  when  the  news 
of  the  vetoed  Bill  was  flashed  from  mouth  to  mouth. 

As  he  watched,  standing  within  the  silver-corded  curtains,  a 
party  of  halberdiers  suddenly  scattered  the  people  to  right  and 
left,  a  company  of  soldiers  drove  up,  and  then  the  Royal  coach 
came,  unusually  fast,  swinging  on  its  leathers. 

A  deep  hum  rose  from  the  crowd ;  some  broke  into  cheering, 
hats  were  thrown  up,  and  handkerchiefs  waved.  Sunderland  had 
never  seen  the  King  receive  such  a  cordial  reception. 

He  withdrew  from  the  window,  surprised,  a  little  puzzled. 

The  satisfied  murmur  of  the  crowd  continued. 

"  Why — is  it  possible "  cried  my  lord. 

He  hastened  to  seek  out  the  King. 

William  was  in  his  dressing-room,  disrobing.  M.  Zuylestein 
was  with  him,  and  several  other  nobles. 

Gold-embroidered  purple,  scarlet  and  ermine,  the  collar  and 
star  of  the  George  lay  tossed  on  one  of  the  gilt  walnut  chairs ; 
the  King,  in  silk  shirt  and  white  satin  breeches,  sat  by  a  marquetry 
dressing-table  with  a  letter  in  his  hand. 

Sunderland  entered  as  one  sure  of  his  welcome.  William 
had  promised  him  countenance  if  he  would  come  to  Court. 

"  Your  Majesty "  he  began. 

The  King  looked  at  him  blankly  ;  his  face,  between  the  dark 
curls,  was  of  a  startling  whiteness. 

"Ah,  sir,"  said  Sunderland,  "do  I  break  in  upon  Your 
Majesty  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  William  vaguely. 

My  lord  looked  round  the  other  nobles;  they  seemed 
strangely  silent. 

11  Sir,  how  went  it  in  Parliament  ?  "  he  asked,  approaching  the 
King. 

William  made  a  heavy  effort  to  answer. 


228  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"  I — well  enough — they "    His  voice  trailed  off. 

Sunderland  stood  utterly  amazed.    Was  this  man  going  to  fail  ? 

"  Sir,  the  Triennial  Bill?"  he  questioned  half  fearfully. 

The  King  rose ;  he  seemed  utterly  unnerved ;  he  whom  my 
lord  had  ever  considered  beyond  the  touch  of  weakness. 

"  I  passed  it,"  he  said  faintly. 

The  colour  flashed  into  Sunderland's  face. 

"You  did!"  he  cried.  "You  made  that  great  concession. 
By  God,  if  any  but  Your  Majesty  had  made  that  statement  I 
should  have  disbelieved  them " 

The  King  did  not  seem  to  hear  him ;  he  called  distractedly 
for  his  coat,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  splendid  little  chamber 
with  his  head  bent. 

Sunderland,  sick  at  heart,  drew  M.  de  Zuylestein  aside. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  the  King  ?  "  he  whispered.  "  I 
should  not  have  known  him " 

"  He  hath  been  all  day  like  a  man  in  a  confusion,"  answered 
the  Master  of  the  Robes. 

"And  to  give  way,"  muttered  Sunderland.  "To  concede 
like  any  weakling  ! " 

William  mechanically  took  from  one  of  the  lords  his  coat, 
sword,  and  hat,  and  stood  still  a  moment  before  the  chair  on 
which  his  orders  glittered  on  his  robes,  like  frozen  coloured 
water  gleaming  in  the  winter  sunlight. 

"  Is  the  coach  ready  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"Your  Majesty,"  reminded  M.  de  Zuylestein,  "is  to  dine  in 
public  here  to-day " 

"No,"  said  the  King,  "I  will  go  at  once  to  Kensington 
House — hasten  the  coach " 

"  But  there  are  a  number  of  people  already  gathered — it  will 
cause  grievous  offence " 

The  King  stared  at  him  with  wild  dark  eyes. 

"  My  God,  I  will  not  stay  an  instant." 

M.  de  Zuylestein  bowed. 

At  this  moment  Lord  Portland  entered ;  they  saw  him  with 
profound  relief,  believing  that,  if  any  could,  he  would  fathom 
and  combat  the  King's  humour. 

At  sight  of  him  William  flushed  with  animation.  Portland 
crossed  to  him  at  once ;  he  seemed  himself  troubled  in  his  manner. 


FEAR  229 

The  King  caught  his  hand  and  pressed  it  inside  his  open 
satin  waistcoat,  over  his  heart. 

"  Do  you  feel  that  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Have  you  ever  known  it 
beat  so  ? — that  is  fear,  William,  fear " 

He  spoke  in  his  own  language,  and  with  an  extraordinary 
energy  and  passion. 

"  The  letter,"  asked  Portland  tenderly,  "  that  was  handed 
you  as  we  started " 

"  From  Sir  Thomas  Millington,"  said  the  King ;  he  put  it 
into  his  friend's  hands  and  sank  on  to  the  chair  beside  the 
dressing-table;  he  seemed  utterly  unconscious  of  the  watchful 
eyes  upon  him,  of  the  presence,  indeed,  of  any  but  Portland. 

That  lord  read  the  letter  of  Sir  Thomas  (he  was  the  King's 
physician)  with,  it  seemed,  some  relief. 

"  Why,  he  merely  saith  the  Queen  is  not  well." 

William  answered  hoarsely — 

"  Lady  Temple  came  to  Whitehall  this  morning  when  you 
were  abroad  .  .  .  you  know  she  hath  never  had  the  smallpox." 
His  voice  broke ;  he  stared  out  of  the  window  at  the  winter  sky. 

"God  in  heaven!"  exclaimed  Portland.  "You  do  not 
think  of  thatl" 

"Lady  Temple,"  muttered  the  King,  "said — she  had  sent 
from  Kensington — every  one,  even  to  the  maid-servants — who — 
had  not  had  the  smallpox " 

"  That  is  but  her  own  sweet  kindness,"  cried  Portland — "  she 
cannot  know " 

"  I  am  afraid,  afraid,"  answered  the  King.  "  My  father,  my 
mother,  my  uncle  ...  all  dead  of  that  .  .  ." 

He  sprang  up  and  turned  to  the  door.  Sunderland  was  in 
his  way,  and  stayed  him  gently. 

"  Sir — I  entreat  you  do  not  disappoint  the  people — stay  in 
Whitehall  to  dine " 

William  looked  at  him  fiercely. 

"  Do  you  not  hear  that  the  Queen  is  sick?" 

Sunderland's  face  was  cold ;  he  was  disappointed  in  the  King. 

"What  of  this  Bill  for  the  Calling  of  Parliaments?"  he  said. 
"  I  would  like  to  hear  some  good  reason  for  that  concession  on 
the  part  of  Your  Majesty." 

William  made  no  answer ;  he  put  out  his  hand  and  motioned 


230  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

my  lord  out  of  his  way.  Sunderland  stepped  aside  and  the 
King  left  the  room.  They  heard  his  high  heels  going  quickly 
down  the  corridors. 

Portland  turned  to  M.  de  Zuylestein. 

"Why,  he  hath  known  two  days  that  the  Queen  was  not 
well." 

"It  was  Lady  Temple,"  answered  the  Master  of  the  Robes. 
"  She  told  him  Her  Majesty  was  worse  than  she  would  admit." 

"  But  the  doctors " 

"  You  know  the  King  hath  never  had  any  trust  in  doctors — 
and  certainly  it  giveth  an  ill-colour  that  she  hath  sent  away  all 
that  are  like  to  be  infected." 

"  Meanwhile  the  Bill  is  passed,"  said  Sunderland.  "  And  I 
have  misreckoned  on  the  King." 

He  took  his  leave  haughtily  of  the  Dutch  nobles,  and  they 
went  after  the  King.  An  excited  and  disturbed  crowd  filled  the 
galleries  and  the  banqueting  hall  where  the  dishes  were  already 
on  the  table  and  the  lords  ready  to  serve. 

The  King  had  already  left  Whitehall  in  the  Duke  of  Leeds' 
coach,  with  no  other  company  but  that  nobleman. 

So  completely  deceived  were  the  spectators  who  lined  the  way 
from  the  Palace  to  the  post  office  in  Charing  Cross  to  see  the 
great  people  drive  away  from  Parliament  that  they,  recognizing 
the  arms  and  liveries  of  Leeds  (now  unpopular  by  reason  of  the 
East  India  scandals),  hooted  lustily,  with  no  conception  that  the 
King  was  beside  my  lord. 

Nor  did  either  King  or  minister  care  one  whit  whether  the 
crowd  hooted  or  cheered.  Leeds  was  on  the  verge  of  ruin,  and 
knew  it,  yet  thought  little  about  that ;  he  had  a  peculiar  regard 
for  the  Queen,  a  peculiar  loyalty  towards  the  King ;  his  thoughts, 
like  his  master's,  were  with  that  lady  whose  life  meant  so  much 
to  England. 

In  half  an  hour  they  were  at  Kensington  House ;  in  a  few 
minutes  more  the  King,  the  Duke's  mantle  over  his  white  satins 
and  the  garter  still  round  his  knee,  was  by  Mary's  side  in  the 
long  Queen's  gallery. 

She  was  seated  close  to  the  fire  with  Basilea  de  Marsac  and 
Madame  de  Nienhuys — very  languidly  seated,  with  her  hands  in 
her  lap  and  a  blue  scarf  about  her  shoulders. 


FEAR  231 

Her  extravagant  joy  at  the  King's  coming  was  piteous  to  see. 

"  So  soon ! "  she  cried,  and  her  whole  face  changed.  "  I 
thought  it  could  not  be  till  this  evening  .  .  .  but  were  they  not 
expecting  you  to  dine  at  Whitehall  ?  " 

"  No  matter  for  that,"  he  answered  breathlessly.  "  You — you 
are  no  worse  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  am  well  again,"  smiled  Mary;  "but  you  will  make 
yourself  unpopular  if  you  disappoint  the  people — yet  I  am  glad 
you  came — I  thought  I  must  see  you — that  is  why  I  came  from 
Hampton  yesterday,  forgive  me — but  even  the  sound  of  the 
Tower  guns  as  you  went  to  Parliament  was  company " 

She  paused,  and  seemed  rather  exhausted  by  the  effort  of 
speaking.  William  noticed  with  unutterable  anxiety  that  the  hand 
he  held  was  burning  hot  and  that  she  shivered  continuously,  yet  she 
was  so  joyous,  smiling,  and  lovely  he  could  not  trust  his  own  fears. 

The  two  ladies  had  withdrawn  to  the  other  end  of  the  gallery. 
The  King  took  the  stool  beside  Mary. 

"  Did  you  pass  the  Parliament  Bill  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  never  taking  his  eyes  from  her  face  and 
speaking  as  if  it  was  a  matter  of  no  moment. 

"  Ah,  why  ?  "  she  asked,  startled. 

"  I  did  not  care ;  what  doth  it  matter  ?  Do  not  talk  of  busi- 
ness, Marie." 

"No,"  she  said  softly;  "let  us  forget  great  affairs  for  once. 
I  am  so  weary,  dear." 

"But  you  are  better?"     He  could  scarcely  control  his  voice. 

She  smiled  brightly. 

"  Oh  yes ;  I  was  out  driving  this  morning,  and  afterwards 
talking  to  Dr.  Burnet,  and  you  know  that  taketh  some  energy — 
I  think  to  have  my  ball  just  the  same  next  Saturday.  I  have 
remedied  myself  and  not  troubled  the  doctors." 

He  wished  to  ask  her  why  she  had  given  the  orders  about 
her  household  that  had  so  shaken  him,  but  could  not  bring  the 
words  to  his  lips. 

Mary  coughed  a  little,  and  sat  up. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you  something,"  she  said.  "  I  am  always 
begging — am  I  not?" 

He  pressed  the  hand  he  held  between  his  so  fiercely  that  his 
heavy  rings  hurt  her,  but  she  continued  smiling. 


232  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"About  Greenwich  Palace,"  she  added  rather  faintly.  "I 
want  it  for  a  hospital " 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  he  answered  remorsefully.  "  You  have 
spoken  of  it  before.  It  hath  always  been  the  cursed  money, 
but  you  shall  have  it  if  I  have  to  pawn  my  furniture." 

"  There  are  so  many  old  seamen  about,"  murmured  Mary — 
"  poor  and  wounded — and  many  of  them  were  at  La  Hogue  and 
helped  save  us  all.  I  used  to  see  them  when  I  took  my  airing  in 
Hyde  Park,  begging — one  could  not  forbear  tears.  And  the 
hospitals  are  full.  But  Greenwich " 

"  It  shall  be,"  said  William.  "  Give  that  no  more  thought. 
Wren  shall  draw  plans.  It  shall  be  as  you  wish,  only  get  well 
again,  and  that  shall  be  my  thankoffering. " 

Looking  and  smiling  at  him  she  sat  silent  while  the  firelight 
flooded  her  figure  with  gorgeous  light ;  in  that  moment's  stillness 
both  of  them  thought  of  love  as  a  terrible  thing. 

Mary  suddenly  closed  her  eyes. 

"  Your  mother,"  she  said  softly,  "  do  you  remember  her  ?  " 

He  answered  under  his  breath — 

"Yes.  Your  name,  my  dear,  your  family,  should  I  not 
remember  her  ?  " 

"  When  she  died  she  was  no  older  than  I  am — I  often  think 
how  strangely  near  her  grave  is.  I  think  that  Chapel  in  West- 
minster a  sad  spot.  But  if  we  live  with  our  thoughts  on  Death 
how  can  we  be  afraid  ?  God  would  not  let  one  be  afraid." 

"  Why  do  you  speak  of  death  ?  "  asked  the  King,  in  a  tremb- 
ling voice.  "  You  frighten  me " 

"  Ah  no,"  whispered  Mary.  "  Death  is  not  fearful.  I  have 
been  idle  to-day,  and  thought  of  many  strange  things.  I  recalled 
a  portrait  of  your  mother  I  found  in  a  desk  of  yours  when  I  first 
came  to  Holland — a  limning  in  little  with  white  violets  on  the 
back,  and  these  words,  'J'aime  un  seul.'  That  was  a  pretty 
thought  of  hers." 

She  moved  her  head  restlessly  on  the  red  cushions  and  lifted 
her  heavy  lids. 

"  I  would  we  were  at  The  Hague  again,"  she  said  wistfully. 

"  You  shall  go,"  he  replied  impetuously.  "  When  the  spring 
cometh  we  will  go  together  to  The  Hague,  and  be  free  of  all  of 
it » 


FEAR  233 

"  There  is  the  war." 

"  Let  Waldeck  take  the  command  this  campaign — I  will  stay 
with  you.  We  have  had  so  little  time  together  all  these  years." 

Mary  gazed  tenderly  into  his  ardent  face. 

"  The  spring  seemeth  so  far  off.  Hold  my  hand.  I  feel  as 
if  the  world  might  pass  from  beneath  us  if  we  could  sit  thus  and 
I  not  notice.  You  will  be  with  me  this  Christmas-tide  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  leave  you,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "  I  will  nurse  you 
till  you  are  well  again.  But  you  are  not  ill  ?  "  he  added  piteously. 

"  No — tired  a  little."  She  sat  up  and  put  her  hands  on  his 
shoulders.  "  You  do  not  regret  the  day  they  married  you  to 
your  poor  little  cousin  ? "  The  soft  brown  eyes  were  full  of 
yearning.  "  She  was  such  a  foolish  child,  so  ignorant " 

He  could  not  speak,  but  made  a  movement  of  his  hands  to 
hers  as  if  to  stop  her. 

"Let  me  speak,"  said  Mary  sweetly.  "I  have  thought  so 
much  about  it  lately.  We  learnt  everything  so  late — our  mis- 
takes last  of  all,  I  think,  and  I  have  made  many  mistakes.  Per- 
haps another  woman  would  have  helped  you  more.  But  I  have 
done  my  best — I  wanted  to  say  that — I  have  always  done  my  best." 

He  managed  to  answer,  but  almost  incoherently. 

"  You  shame  me — utterly  shame  me — you — know  what  you 
have  been  to  me " 

Mary  dropped  her  hands ;  the  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes. 

"And  I  am  childless,"  she  faltered. 

He  sprang  up  as  if  he  wrenched  himself  free  from  torture. 

"  Do  not  leave  me,"  entreated  Mary  feebly.  "  I  think  I  am 
not  very  well,  after  all,  and  you  promised  to  stay — forgive  me — 
but  indeed  I  think  of  it  and  your  great  kindness." 

He  turned  about  and  leant  over  her  chair.  Mary  clung  to 
him  with  hot  hands. 

"No  one  could  have  loved  you  more,"  she  said,  in  great 
agitation — "  too  much,  for  my  own  peace " 

Her  fever-flushed  face  drooped  against  the  lace  on  his  bosom  ; 
he  put  his  arm  round  her,  and  she  gave  a  great  sigh ;  the  tears 
were  on  her  lashes  and  running  slowly  down  her  face ;  he  kissed 
her  loose  hair  and  the  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  God,"  he  said,  in  an  unsteady  whisper,  answering  his  own 
desperate  fears,  "  could  not  be  so  cruel." 


CHAPTER    IX 
CHRISTMAS  EVE 

TV^ENSINGTON  HOUSE  was  hushed  and  dark;  in  only 
I.V.  one  room  did  a  light  burn,  and  that  was  where  the  Queen 
of  England  sat  alone  in  her  cabinet  with  the  door  locked  and 
two  tapers  burning  on  her  desk. 

It  was  long  past  midnight  on  Christmas  Eve,  and  she  supposed 
in  bed ;  the  stillness  was  intense ;  the  ticking  of  the  little  brass 
clock  sounded  loud  and  steady — a  solitary  noise. 

Mary  sat  at  the  desk  with  her  papers  spread  before  her ;  she 
had  burnt  many  of  them  in  the  candle-flame,  and  a  little  pile  of 
ashes  lay  on  the  cold  hearth. 

It  was  four  days  since  she  had  first  sickened,  and  the  doctors 
said  this  and  that,  disagreeing  with  each  other,  and  constantly 
changing  their  opinion  ;  but  Mary  had  never  been  deceived ;  she 
had  cheated  herself,  she  had  cheated  the  King,  into  a  belief  that 
she  was  lately  better,  but  from  the  moment  in  her  bedchamber 
at  Hampton  Court  when  the  thought  of  her  danger  had  first 
flashed  on  her,  she  had  had  an  absolute  premonition  that  this 
was  the  end.  All  her  life  had  been  coloured  by  the  sense  she 
would  not  live  past  youth.  The  first  shock  over,  she  did  not  grieve 
for  herself,  but  terribly,  more  terribly  than  she  had  conceived  she 
could,  for  the  King. 

At  first  a  kind  of  wild  joy  had  possessed  her  that  she  would 
go  first ;  but  the  agony  of  leaving  him  alone  was  almost  as  awful 
as  the  agony  of  being  left. 

Because  she  could  not  endure  to  face  his  anguish  she  had  so 
far  concealed  from  him  both  her  certainty  of  her  own  approaching 
end  and  her  own  belief  as  to  her  malady.  Dr.  Radcliffe  alone 
among  the  physicians  had  said  smallpox,  and  been  laughed  at 
for  his  opinion,  but  the  Queen  knew  that  he  was  right 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  235 

"  Malignant  black  smallpox,"  he  had  said,  and  she  knew  he  was 
right  in  that  also. 

Few  recovered  from  this  plague ;  few  lived  beyond  the  week. 

Alone  in  the  little  cabinet,  consecrated  by  so  many  prayers, 
meditations,  and  tears,  the  young  Queen  faced  her  fate. 

"  I  am  going  to  die,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I  am  going  to 
die  in  a  few  days." 

She  sat  back  in  her  chair  and  caught  her  breath.  The  stillness 
seemed  to  ache  in  her  ears.  So  little  done,  so  much  unfinished, 
so  many  storms,  troubles,  attempts,  poor  desperate  endeavours 
and  now — the  end. 

She  recalled  that  when  the  King  had  been  last  on  the  Con- 
tinent she  had  been  ill  of  a  sore  throat,  and  been  so  melancholy 
on  account  of  the  dismal  state  of  public  affairs,  the  ingratitude 
and  malice  of  the  people,  that  she  had  wished  to  die,  but  checked 
that  thought,  believing  that  she  could  still  be  of  service  to  her 
husband.  And  now  it  was  no  wish  or  idle  fancy,  but  the  very 
thing  itself. 

And  she  must  leave  him. 

Her  deep  piety  made  her  think  the  agony  she  endured  at  that 
thought  a  punishment  for  having  so  deeply  loved  a  human 
creature.  She  tried  to  fix  her  mind  on  God,  but  earthly  affection 
was  stronger.  The  image  of  heaven  became  dim  beside  the  image 
of  him  to  whom  her  whole  heart  had  been  given;  the  very 
tenderness  that  had  been  provoked  in  him  by  her  illness  made 
it  harder. 

At  last  she  rose  and  went  over  to  a  little  gilt  escritoire  in  the 
corner ;  there  were  locked  away  all  the  letters  she  had  ever  had 
from  the  King,  some  from  her  father,  a  Prayer  Book  of  her 
mother's  before  her  conversion,  some  of  her  own  meditations 
and  prayers,  her  diary,  and  various  little  trifles  with  poignant 
associations. 

With  the  keys  in  her  hand  she  hesitated,  but  courage  failed 
her  to  open  any  of  the  drawers ;  she  returned  to  the  large  bureau 
and  took  up  a  sheet  of  paper. 

She  felt  ill  and  cold ;  her  limbs  were  heavy,  her  eyes  ached, 
and  her  head  was  full  of  pain.  She  made  a  strong  effort  of  will 
to  take  up  the  quill  and  write ;  at  first  the  pen  shook  so  there 
were  mere  ink-marks  on  the  paper. 


236  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

What  she  wrote  were  a  few  last  requests  to  the  King :  that 
her  jewels  and  clothes  might  be  given  to  her  sister  Anne,  that 
her  servants  might  be  looked  after,  that  he  would  remember  his 
promise  with  regard  to  the  hospital  at  Greenwich,  and  that  if 
Leeds  was  disgraced  the  King  would  deal  mildly  with  him — "  for 
he  hath  ever  been  a  good  servant  to  us." 

She  did  not  trust  herself  to  add  words  of  affection,  but  wrote 
beneath,  "  The  Lord  have  thee  in  His  keeping,"  folded  it  up  with 
the  ink  scarce  dry,  and  rose  to  unlock  the  top  drawer  of  the 
escritoire  and  place  the  paper  within. 

That  done  she  relocked  it  and  placed  the  key  in  her  bosom. 

All  her  other  papers  and  letters  she  had  destroyed ;  her 
private  affairs  were  in  order ;  she  had  not  a  debt  nor  an  obligation 
in  the  world.  There  was  nothing  more  to  do. 

She  put  her  hands  before  her  eyes  and  endeavoured  to  settle 
her  thoughts,  to  dismiss  earthly  matters  and  think  only  of  God, 
but  she  could  not  put  the  King  out  of  her  heart.  Her  thoughts 
ran  past  her  own  death,  and  saw  him  lonely  amidst  his  difficulties, 
without  her  aid  to  smooth  over  little  frictions,  without  her 
company  in  his  infrequent  leisure,  without  her  sympathy  in  his 
disappointments ;  in  a  thousand  little  ways  he  scarcely  knew  of 
she  had  been  able  to  help  him,  and  now  there  would  be  no  one — 
no  one  to  watch  and  notice  and  understand  as  she  had  done ; 
she  could  not  trust  even  Portland  to  do  what  she  had  done. 

"  God  forgive  me  for  this  weakness,"  she  murmured,  in  great 
distress.  "  God  strengthen  and  make  it  easy  for  us  both." 

She  rose  and  went  to  the  window ;  she  could  see  the  black 
sky  pierced  here  and  there  by  a  few  stars  as  the  clouds  parted — 
nothing  else. 

On  an  instant  the  deep  silence  was  rent  by  a  clamour  of 
sweet  sound ;  the  sharp  strong  pealing  of  church  bells  rang  out 
over  the  sleeping  city. 

Mary  knew  that  it  was  the  village  church  of  Kensington 
practising  for  Christmas ;  she  sank  into  the  window-seat  and 
fixed  her  eyes  on  those  few  distant  pale  cold  stars. 

She  could  not  steady  her  thoughts.  Old  memorieSj  pictures 
of  dead  days,  arose  and  disturbed  her.  She  saw  the  sunlight 
on  the  red  front  of  the  house  at  Twickenham  and  the  little 
roses  growing  over  the  brick,  herself  as  a  child  playing  in  the 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  237 

garden,  and  the  figure  of  her  father  standing  by  the  sundial 
looking  at  her,  as  he  had  stood  once  on  one  of  his  rare  visits — 
very  handsome  and  tall  and  grave  with  long  tasselled  gloves 
in  his  hand,  she  saw  the  hayfields  beyond  St.  James's  and  the 
summer  tanned  labourers  working  there  and  a  little  girl  in  a 
blue  gown  asleep  on  a  gathered  sheaf  and  Lady  Villiers  pointing 
out  the  last  swallow  and  how  low  it  flew — so  low  that  the  light 
of  the  setting  sun  was  over  its  back  and  it  was  like  a  thing  of 
gold  above  the  rough  stubble — she  saw  pictures  of  The  Hague — 
that  beautiful  town,  and  her  own  dear  house,  and  the  wood  .  .  . 

She  remembered  her  presentiment,  before  William  left  for 
England,  that  they  were  looking  at  the  wood  together  for  the 
last  time. 

All  over  now,  mere  memory,  and  memory  itself  soon  to 
end ;  she  would  never  see  the  flowers  again  either  in  England 
or  Holland ;  she  had  looked  her  last  on  blue  sky  and  summer 
sun ;  she  would  never  more  go  down  to  Chester  to  welcome  the 
King  home  from  the  war ;  she  would  never  again  cut  the  sweet 
briar  roses  to  place  in  the  blue  bowls  at  Hampton  Court. 

It  frightened  her  that  she  thought  so  of  these  earthly  things, 
that  she  could  not  detach  her  mind  from  the  world.  She 
endeavoured  to  fix  her  attention  on  the  bells,  and  they  seemed 
to  shake  into  the  words  of  an  ancient  hymn  she  had  known 
as  a  child — 

"O  Lord,  let  Thou  my  spirit  rise 
From  out  this  Press  of  turning  Strife. 
Let  me  look  into  Thy  awful  eyes 
And  draw  from  Thee  Immortal  Life." 

The  bells  seemed  to  change  into  one  of  the  endless  little 
Dutch  carillons  that  she  heard  so  often  in  her  dreams;  she 
put  her  hands  before  her  face — 

"Take,  dear  Lord,  the  best  of  me, 
And  let  it,  as  an  Essence  pressed 
Like  unto  Like,  win  Immortality 
Absorbed  in  Thy  unchanging  rest." 

The  bells  paused  and  shuddered  as  if  a  rude  hand  had 
checked  them ;  the  melody  hesitated,  then  changed  rhythm 


238  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

a  single  bell  struck  out  from  the  rest  in  clear  ringing,  then 
stopped. 

For  a  little  space  the  air  was  full  of  echoes,  then  a  mournful 
stillness  fell.  The  Queen  remained  in  the  window-seat  with 
her  hands  before  her  eyes. 

When  she  raised  her  head  one  of  the  candles  had  guttered 
out  and  the  other  was  near  its  end. 

She  had  lost  the  sense  of  time,  almost  of  place;  it  would 
have  given  her  no  surprise  to  find  she  was  sitting  in  the  garden 
at  The  Hague  or  going  down  the  waterways  of  Holland  in 
her  barge;  she  did  not  notice  the  darkness  so  ill-dispersed 
by  that  one  flame  burning  tall,  ragged,  and  blue  in  the  great 
silver  stick;  she  began  to  say  over  her  prayers  in  a  kind  of 
exaltation ;  she  went  on  her  knees  and  pressed  her  face  against 
the  smooth  wood  of  the  window-frame;  she  was  murmuring 
to  herself  under  her  breath  as  if  she  tried  to  lull  her  own 
soul  to  sleep;  she  got  up  at  last,  not  knowing  what  she  did, 
and  unlatched  the  window. 

She  looked  out  on  a  ghastly  dawn,  pallid  above  the  leafless 
trees,  against  which  a  few  flakes  of  snow  fell  heavily.  The 
Queen  stared  at  this  picture.  The  cold  wind  entered  the  chamber 
and  a  snowflake  lightly  drifted  in  and  changed  to  a  crystal 
drop  on  the  window-seat. 

She  latched  the  window  again  and  turned  into  the  room ; 
the  last  candle  had  been  out  hours;  the  wax  was  hard  round 
the  frozen  wick ;  a  whole  night  had  passed  with  the  drawing  of 
a  breath,  and  this  was  Christmas  morning. 

Above  the  chimney-piece  was  a  mirror  in  a  gold  and 
ebony  frame;  the  Queen  stepped  up  to  it  and  looked  at  herself; 
she  beheld  a  woman  without  colour ;  her  gown  was  black  and 
her  face  and  throat  indistinguishable  from  her  crumpled  lace 
collar ;  her  hair  was  dark  and  without  a  glint  in  the  dead  light ; 
the  pearls  in  her  ears  were  ghostly  pale  ;  she  thought  her  features 
were  very  changed,  being  hollowed  and  sunk. 

"They  cover  the  faces  of  the  dead,"  she  thought  curiously; 
"they  will  soon  cover  mine."  She  put  her  hand  delicately 
under  her  chin.  "  Poor  face,  that  will  never  laugh  or  blush — 
or  weep  again  ! " 


CHAPTER   X 
THE  QUEEN 

DR.  BURNET  was  returning  from  his  diocese  of  Sarum  to 
Kensington  Palace,  where  he  had  been  called  by  the 
grave  reports  of  the  Queen's  sickness. 

On  Christmas  Day  she  had  been  something  better,  but 
towards  the  evening  notably  worse ;  on  Wednesday  prayers  were 
offered  in  all  the  churches,  and  the  new  primate,  Dr.  Tenison, 
was  summoned  to  join  the  other  prelates  in  attendance  at 
Kensington. 

The  Bishop  of  Sarum  was  joined  in  London  by  M.  Zuylestein, 
for  whom  he  had  a  peculiar  friendship,  and  who  came  to 
urge  haste. 

The  Master  of  the  Robes  hoped  that  the  Bishop's  presence 
might  have  some  effect  upon  the  astonishing  and  immoderate 
agitation  of  the  King;  he  confessed  he  had  been  glad  to 
escape  from  the  atmosphere  of  anxiety  and  grief  at  Kensington. 

Soldier  and  priest  made  a  melancholy  journey  in  M. 
Zuylestein's  coach.  The  Capital  was  very  silent  and  awed.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  now  that  the  Queen  was  beloved. 

"If  she  goes,"  said  M.  Zuylestein  bluntly,  "he  can  never 
hold  the  throne.  His  very  title  to  it  would  be  questioned. 
Without  her  where  are  we  all  ?  " 

Dr.  Burnet  answered  unsteadily;  he  was  deeply  attached 
to  Mary. 

"  Do  not  speak  like  that,  sir.  She  must  live — even  if  it  be 
smallpox,  is  she  not  young  and  strong?  Did  not  the  King 
recover  ?  " 

"He  had  it  but  slightly,"  answered  M.  Zuylestein.  "He 
was  back  at  the  army  in  twenty  days.  They  say  it  was  his  own 
resolution  not  to  die  and  the  services  of  M.  Portland  that 


240  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

saved  him,  but  I  do  not  think  this  lady  hath  any  such  will 
to  live." 

"God  bless  us,"  cried  the  Bishop,  "who  would  have 
thought  a  man  of  the  King's  feeble  constitution  would  have 
survived  the  Queen  ! "  He  shook  his  head  sorrowfully.  "  She 
was  our  principal  hope,  our  support — a  prince  of  an  extraordinary 
goodness." 

"If  she  dieth  she  hath  the  better  part,"  answered  the 
Dutchman.  "I  know  not  how  the  King  will  well  bear  it — 
he  hath  hardly  slept  since  her  illness — for  fear  of  his  cough 
disturbing  her  he  will  not  lie  in  her  chamber,  but  hath  his 
camp-bed  in  the  anteroom — yet  he  is  never  on  it — he  hath 
himself  nursed  her — day  and  night  with  such  devotion  and  care 
as  moveth  the  heart."  He  paused,  and  added,  with  great  emotion, 
"Had  you  seen  him  as  I  have,  in  all  manner  of  dangers  and 
fatigues  and  troubles,  always  master  of  himself,  and  of  such 
an  heroical  courage  that  he  inflamed  those  about  him,  you 
would  find  it,  sir,  terrible  to  see  him  as  he  is  now." 

"When  I  last  saw  him  he  was  struck  beyond  expression," 
answered  Dr.  Burnet.  "  But  I  never  thought  his  temper  would 
bear  an  open  display  of  emotion." 

"You  know  him  as  well  as  any  Englishman — yet  you  do 
not  know  him,"  said  M.  Zuylestein. 

The  pompous  self-love  of  the  Bishop  was  rather  hit  at  this, 
but  he  let  it  pass  (as  he  would  not  have  done  at  any  other  time), 
and  neither  spoke  again  before  they  reached  Kensington  House. 

They  found  the  household  in  much  disorder — the  courtyard 
filled  with  carriages,  the  corridors  with  messengers  waiting  for 
the  news.  M.  Zuylestein  told  his  companion  that  the  Princess 
Anne  (in  open  disgrace  on  account  of  her  championship  of  my 
Lord  Marlborough,  who  had  been  discovered  in  flagrant  treachery) 
had  sent  a  humble  loving  message,  and  that  the  King  had  replied 
warmly,  but  requested  her  not  to  come  till  there  was  a  turn  for 
the  better. 

Dr.  Burnet  thought  this  answer  of  the  King  looked  as  if  the 
doctors  held  out  hope ;  he  shouldered  his  way  through  the  crowd 
to  the  Queen's  private  apartments,  and  rather  breathless  and 
without  ceremony  he  and  M.  Zuylestein  put  aside  the  ushers  and 
entered  the  first  antechamber  of  Mary's  apartments. 


THE  QUEEN  241 

It  was  empty  save  for  a  couple  of  curious,  frightened  servants  ; 
but  the  door  into  the  next  room  was  open,  and  the  two  new- 
comers beheld  an  extraordinary  scene. 

A  little  group  with  their  faces  hidden  stood  before  the 
window ;  near  them  at  the  table  was  a  florid,  coarse-featured  man, 
plainly  dressed,  and  cast  down  before  him  a  gentleman  in  a  violet 
coat — on  his  knees  with  his  hands  raised  in  a  gesture  of  abandoned 
entreaty. 

The  back  of  this  gentleman  was  towards  Dr.  Burnet. 

"  Dear  God  ! "  he  muttered,  seizing  M.  Zuylestein's  arm,  "  is 
it— the  King?" 

M.  Zuylestein,  utterly  pale,  made  a  gesture  of  assent,  and 
hastened  forward.  The  man  before  whom  the  King  knelt  stepped 
back  in  a  kind  of  desperation,  and  cried — 

"  If  Your  Majesty  were  to  offer  me  your  three  kingdoms  I 
could  give  you  no  other  answer ! " 

At  this  the  King  fell  forward  on  his  face,  and  he  was  lying  so, 
prone,  when  the  Bishop  and  M.  Zuylestein  entered. 

Dr.  Radcliffe  wiped  his  forehead  with  his  handkerchief,  and 
looked  round  half-defiantly. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "I  take  you  to  witness  I 
have  done  my  duty.  His  Majesty  asked  the  truth.  It  is  small- 
pox, and  Her  Majesty  is  sinking  rapidly.  I  was  not  called  in 
until  it  was  too  late." 

Portland  had  come  from  the  window,  and  was  raising  the  King. 

"  You  have  some  courage,  sir,"  he  said  grimly. 

Dr.  Radcliffe  retorted  in  self-defence — 

"  I  did  not  undertake  this  for  pleasure,  your  lordship ;  there 
was  no  one  else  would  dare  tell  His  Majesty." 

Portland  got  the  King  to  his  feet ;  the  others  stood  awkward 
and  still ;  William  looked  round  and  saw  Dr.  Burnet. 

"  Did  you  hear?"  he  asked,  under  his  breath — "  did  you  hear  ?  " 

He  sank  into  the  chair  by  the  table.  The  Bishop  approached 
with  some  faltering  words  of  comfort,  but  the  King  cut  him  short. 

"  They  say  there  is  no  hope  of  the  Queen  ! "  he  broke  out. 
"  No  hope  !  I  was  the  most  happy  creature  upon  earth,  and  now 
shall  be  the  most  miserable  !  There  was  no  fault  in  her,  not 
one — you  know  her  as  well  as  any,  but  you  could  not  know  her 
as  I  did — there  was  a  worth  in  her  none  could  know  but  I ! " 
16 


242  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

With  that  he  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears,  and  hid  his  face  on 
the  table  in  an  abandonment  of  agony  which  amazed  those  about 
him,  who  knew  neither  what  to  say  nor  do  in  face  of  this  overthrow 
of  the  master  whom  they  had  always  regarded  as  one  who  would 
preserve  a  decent  control  in  the  face  of  any  sorrow,  since  he  was 
a  soldier  and  a  statesman,  and  had  kept  his  countenance  in  many 
a  bitter  crisis,  and  always  shown  a  singular  pride  in  controlling 
his  passions — so  much  so,  as  to  be  stately  and  cold  even  to  those 
he  loved ;  yet  here  he  wept  before  the  very  staring  servants  and 
gave  no  heed.  Lord  Portland  thought  there  was  something 
womanish  and  unworthy  in  this  desperate  grief;  he  went  up  to 
the  King  and  spoke  with  a  kind  of  heat. 

"  Will  you  give  way  thus  ?     Where  is  your  trust  in  God  ?  " 

He  was  speaking  not  to  the  King  of  England,  but  to  William 
of  Nassau,  at  whose  side  he  had  faced  so  many  years  of  danger, 
his  companion  in  arms,  his  truest  friend. 

"She  will  go  to  everlasting  peace,"  he  said,  with  energy. 
"You,  who  have  faced  so  much,  can  face  the  loss  of  her — for 
her  sake,  for  her  eternal  good." 

If  the  King  heard  these  words  they  did  not  touch  him ;  he 
raised  his  head  a  little,  and  broke  into  incoherent  lamentation  in 
a  misery  of  tears. 

Portland  spoke  to  Dr.  Radcliffe. 

"How  long,"  he  asked, "will  it  be?" 

"She  may,"  answered  the  doctor,  in  a  lowered  voice,  "live 
another  day,  my  lord,  no  more ;  the  smallpox  are  now  so  sunk 
there  is  no  hope  of  raising  them." 

"Should  she  not  be  warned  of  her  danger?" 

"  That  is  as  the  King  wishes." 

"  The  King ! "  echoed  Portland,  in  a  tone  of  despair.  He  turned 
again  to  his  master.  "  Sire,"  he  said  gently,  "  will  you  have  the 
Queen  told  ?  " 

William  looked  up ;  the  tears  were  streaming  down  his  face 
for  any  one  to  see ;  he  continually  shuddered  violently,  and  spoke 
so  hoarsely  Portland  could  with  difficulty  catch  the  words. 

"  I'll  not  believe  it  yet — I  cannot — these  doctors — must  save 
her " 

"  Dr.  Tenison,"  answered  Portland,  "  is  with  her  now — it  were 
best  that  he  should  tell  her  of  her  condition " 


THE  QUEEN  243 

The  King  broke  out  into  ejaculations  of  anguish. 

"  There  was  none  like  her  in  all  the  world — none  !  No  one 
could  know  her  great  goodness.  O  God,  my  God,  this  is  more 
than  I  can  bear ! " 

Portland  turned  his  eyes  away,  broken  himself. 

"I  am  amazed,"  whispered  Dr.  Burnet;  "for  surely  I  never 
thought  him  capable  of  such  emotion." 

Dr.  Radcliffe  touched  Portland  on  the  arm. 

"Look  to  His  Majesty,"  he  said.  "I  think  this  will  prove 
beyond  his  endurance — I  will  to  the  Queen." 

He  took  his  leave  softly.  The  King  lifted  his  head  and  looked 
after  him. 

"  He  said  there  was  no  hope  ! "  he  cried.     "  No  hope  !  " 

"  God  is  your  hope,"  answered  Portland  strongly. 

"  Talk  not  of  God,  for  this  is  death  and  damnation  to  me — if 
she  leaves  me  nothing  matters  on  earth  or  in  heaven — what  have 
I  done — what  have  I  done  that  the  Devil  is  let  loose  on  me  ? " 
He  cast  his  eyes  round  wildly,  and  staggered  to  his  feet.  "She 
was  all  I  had — all — I  should  have  died  first — I  might  have  died 
happy — I  have  not  lived  so  wickedly  I  should  be  punished  thus — 
but  they  mistake,  these  doctors — she  cannot  die — no,  it  is  not 
possible." 

They  were  all  silent.  The  scene  was  painful  almost  past 
bearing.  The  King's  agonies  went  beyond  all  bounds.  None  of 
them,  though  they  were  all  men  who  had  known  him  most  of  his 
life,  had  believed  that  his  temper  was  capable  of  such  passion. 
Dr.  Burnet's  fluent  self-assurance  was  checked — he  stood  dumb 
and  staring ;  the  Dutch  nobles  gazed  in  horror  and  dismay  at 
this  spectacle  of  a  proud  man's  utter  overthrow.  Portland 
remained  beside  him,  and  the  King  supported  himself  by  holding 
heavily  on  to  his  arm. 

"  Doctors  mistake,  do  they  not  ?  "  he  cried,  between  the  long 
shudders  that  shook  him.  "  How  often  have  they  not  said — I 
should  die — but  I  lived." 

"  Alas,"  answered  Portland  unsteadily,  "  I  would  not  have 
you  deceive  yourself — Radcliffe  was  very  certain.  But  you  will 
command  yourself " 

"  I — I  have  no  strength,"  gasped  the  King ;  "  my  soul  is  broken 
within  me.  O  God  ! "  he  sobbed,  "  save  her  or  let  me  go  !  " 


244  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

He  turned  about  and  threw  out  his  hand  like  a  blind  man 
feeling  his  way,  then  fell  back  into  Portland's  arms. 

"  Fainted,"  said  my  lord  laconically.  With  the  help  of  M. 
Zuylestein  he  laid  him  on  the  stiff  couch  between  the  windows. 
One  of  the  servants  hurried  for  a  doctor,  and  in  the  moment's 
confusion  my  Lord  Leeds  entered  unnoticed. 

Portland,  as  he  moved  from  the  King's  couch,  was  the  first 
to  see  him. 

"Ah,  my  lord,"  he  said  sorrowfully,  "what  is  to  become  of 
us  all?" 

"The  King,"  murmured  Portland,  much  moved,  "  is  incapable 
of  anything — do  you  take  the  direction  of  affairs." 

"Nay,  you,  my  lord,"  answered  Leeds.  "You  are  His 
Majesty's  nearer  friend." 

"  And  your  Grace  is  English — it  will  be  more  politic  should 
you  take  this  office — what  of  the  Queen  ?  " 

"I  have  just  come  from  her  antechamber — even  the  pages 
and  serving-maids  are  in  tears — this  is  a  heavy  business."  He 
himself  seemed  like  a  man  utterly  overcome.  "  She  is  certainly 
sinking — she  is  in  private  discourse  now  with  the  Archbishop." 

"  Doth  she  know  ?  " 

Leeds  shook  his  head. 

"  Dr.  Tenison  waiteth  the  King's  commands  to  tell  her — but 
I  think  she  hath  an  inner  knowledge." 

M.  Auverquerque  came  from  the  group  by  the  window  and 
whispered  Portland  that  the  King  was  conscious. 

At  this  Leeds,  ever  warm-hearted  and  impulsive,  went  on 
his  knees  beside  the  couch  and  pressed  the  King's  cold  hand 
affectionately  to  his  lips. 

William  sat  up  with  his  head  drooping ;  his  back  was  to  the 
light,  and  his  thick  curls  almost  concealed  his  face  ;  he  held  his 
handkerchief  to  his  lips  and  shivered  continually. 

"The  Queen,"  said  Leeds,  very  low,  "hath  asked  for  Your 
Majesty." 

The  King  murmured  something  incoherent. 

"And  the  Archbishop,"  continued  Leeds,  with  a  grave 
gentleness,  "thinketh  she  should  be  told  of  her  danger." 

"  I  would  not  have  her  deceived — in  so  important  a  matter," 
whispered  the  King — "tell  him  so."  He  leant  forward  and 


THE  QUEEN  245 

took  Leeds  by  the  shoulders.  "  Is  it  not  an  awful  thing  that 
she  should  die — she — to  die — you  ever  loved  her — God  bless  you 
for  that,  my  lord — she  had  a  sad  life " — his  voice  became  very 

indistinct — "she  will  not  be  sorry — but  as  for  me " 

His  hands  loosened  on  the  Duke's  shoulders,  and  with  a  little 
moan  he  fell  into  another  fainting  fit,  so  long  and  deathlike  that 
they  feared  for  his  reason  or  his  life  ;  it  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  he 
would  scarcely  survive  her  whose  danger  caused  his  despair. 


CHAPTER   XI 
THE  BITTER  PARTING 

THE  Queen's  bed  stood  out  into  the  room,  facing  the  long 
windows  which  looked  on  to  the  winter  twilight ;  it  was 
hung  with  four  curtains  of  gold  and  blue  damask  sewn  with 
many-coloured  wreaths  of  flowers  that  Mary  and  her  maids  had 
worked  when  seated  under  the  alley  of  wych-elm  at  Hampton 
Court. 

The  coverlet  was  of  crimson  satin  embroidered  with  great 
roses  of  England  and  fringed  with  bullion.  The  Queen  lay  so 
still  that  the  heavy  folds  were  scarcely  disturbed  about  her 
limbs.  The  curtains  round  the  head  of  the  bed  had  been  drawn 
forward,  and  the  pillows  and  the  face  of  the  Queen  were  in 
shadow. 

She  wore  a  lace  cap  with  long  lappets  fastened  beneath  her 
chin  and  a  little  jacket  of  blue  silk  over  her  muslin  nightgown. 
She  was  not  disfigured,  it  being  the  most  deadly  symptom  of  her 
disease  that  there  was  no  sign  of  it  beyond  the  deep  purple 
marks  that  had  told  Dr.  Radcliffe — black  smallpox — from  the 
first,  and  the  constant  internal  bleeding  of  her  throat  that  had  so 
exhausted  her ;  that  had  stopped  now,  and  she  lay  quite  free  from 
pain  quiet  for  several  hours  ;  not  sleeping ;  sleep,  she  said,  gave 
her  no  ease. 

To  the  right  of  the  bed  the  King  knelt  with  his  face  hidden 
in  the  quilt.  There  were  several  prelates  and  doctors  in  the  room, 
and  by  the  head  of  the  bed  Lady  Temple,  Madame  Nienhuys, 
Basilea  de  Marsac,  several  Dutch  ladies-in-waiting,  and  Lady 
Temple's  daughter. 

At  a  whispered  word  from  Dr.  Radcliffe,  Tenison,  the  new 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  successor  to  the  saintly  Tillotson,  so 

beloved  by  the  King  and  Queen,  approached  the  bed. 

346 


THE  BITTER  PARTING  247 

As  his  footfall  broke  the  tense  silence  Mary  lifted  her  languid 
eyes ;  he  came  round  to  her  left,  and  stood,  in  a  sorrowful 
attitude,  looking  down  on  her. 

"  Be  seated,  my  lord,"  she  faltered. 

But  out  of  respect  to  her  and  the  presence  of  the  King  he 
remained  standing. 

Mary  made  a  feeble  motion  with  her  right  hand,  which  lay 
outside  the  coverlet,  and  sweetly  stammered  her  repeated 
commands  that  he  should  sit. 

Dr.  Tenison  obeyed,  and  with  a  heavy  heart.  Her  gentle 
patience  made  his  duty  the  harder.  Dr.  Radcliffe  had  just  told 
him  that  since  she  now  seemed  tranquil  and  in  full  consciousness 
he  might  tell  her  of  her  approaching  end. 

The  Bishop,  a  good  heavy  man,  set  about  his  task  with  pain 
and  tenderness. 

"Your  Majesty  will  forgive  me  plain  speaking,  but  I  am 
entrusted  by  the  King " 

She  lay  with  her  face  towards  him,  and  her  brown  eyes 
narrowed.  He  hesitated,  fearing  to  greatly  agitate  her,  and  sought 
for  a  form  of  words  in  which  to  cast  his  speech. 

"  I  am  greatly  grieved  to  see  that  Your  Majesty  is  no  better," 
he  said.  "  Your  consolation  will  come  from  heaven,  not  earth." 

She  instantly  perceived  his  drift. 

"You  are  come  to  tell  me  that  I  am  dying?"  she  asked 
faintly. 

He  was  startled  that  she  had  so  instantly  understood,  and 
could  not,  for  the  moment,  speak. 

"I  thank  my  God,"  continued  the  Queen,  "that  I  have  had 
this  in  my  thoughts  from  the  first.  And  there  is  nothing  to  be 
done.  Search  for  a  little  escritoire  in  my  cabinet  and  give  it  to 
the  King.  That  is  the  end  of  earthly  matters." 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  gave  a  little  sigh. 

"Will  it  please  Your  Majesty  receive  the  Sacrament?"  asked 
the  Archbishop. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  at  once.     "  Yes." 

He  left  her,  and  she  turned  her  head  languidly  and  gazed 
before  her  at  the  window. 

Lady  Temple  came  forward  lovingly,  and  looked  down  at  her 
with  sorrowful  eyes. 


248  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"Before  you  light  the  candles,"  whispered  Mary,  "will  you 
draw  the  curtains  a  little  that  I  may  see  the  sky  ?  " 

Lady  Giffard  crossed  the  floor  delicately  and  pulled  back 
the  heavy  gold  thread  and  scarlet  damask  from  the  December 
twilight. 

A  pale  glow  of  colourless  light  fell  across  the  glittering  bed, 
the  wan  face  of  the  Queen,  and  the  motionless  kneeling  figure 
of  her  husband. 

She  could  see  loose  grey  clouds,  an  indistinct  trail  of  yellow  fire 
low  behind  the  leafless  trees  which  tossed  slowly  in  a  feeble  wind. 
She  gave  another  little  sigh  and  again  closed  her  eyes.  Lady 
Giffard,  weeping,  drew  the  curtains.  Basilea  de  Marsac  and 
Madame  de  Nienhuys  lit  the  candles  on  the  mantelshelf,  on  the 
table  between  the  windows,  and  the  crystal  lamp  ornamented 
with  the  rose,  the  shamrock,  and  thistle  in  silver  that  hung  from 
the  centre  of  the  ceiling. 

The  Queen  lay  still  all  this  while ;  she  did  not  speak  till  Dr. 
Tenison  approached  her  bed  again,  and  all  the  prelates  in  the 
chamber  went  on  their  knees. 

"  I  doubt  if  I  can  swallow  the  bread,"  she  murmured 
anxiously. 

The  bishops  in  the  room  took  the  Sacrament  with  her ;  they 
were  all  heavy  with  grief,  and  the  Primate  faltered  in  his  ministra- 
tions, but  she  was   utterly  calm  ;   she  followed  the  holy  office 
clearly  with  no  hesitation.     Despite  her  fears,  she  swallowed  the 
bread  without  difficulty,  and  thanked  Dr.  Tenison  sweetly  when 
he  had  done,  and  lay  for  awhile,  praying  it  seemed.     She  was 
so  resigned  that  it  seemed  she  rather  desired  to  die  than  live. 
Presently  she  whispered,  "  I  would  speak  to  the  King." 
They  all  withdrew  from  the  bed  to  the  far  end  of  the  room 
and  the  antechamber.     Mary  put  out  a  trembling   hand   and 
touched  the  bent  dark  head  that  rested  on  her  quilt. 
"Ah,  love ! "  she  said. 

He  raised  his  face,  moving  for  the  first  time  since  she  had 
fallen  asleep,  two  hours  ago. 

"They  have  told  me,"  whispered  Mary,  "that  I  must  say 
farewell — I  always  knew — forgive  me  that  I  had  not  the  courage 
to  tell  you."  She  smiled.  "  I  am  so  tired,  and  I  have  so  much 
to  say." 


THE  BITTER  PARTING  249 

With  her  right  hand  she  drew  a  small  gold  key  from  the 
bosom  of  her  gown  and  gave  it  him. 

"  The  little  escritoire,"  she  explained.  "  I  asked  him  to  give 
it  you — only  a  few  trifles — but  you  will  understand." 

He  took  it  with  a  shudder,  her  left  hand  he  held  between 
his  tightly ;  he  did  not  speak ;  his  face  was  as  white,  as  hallowed, 
as  shadowed  by  death,  it  seemed,  as  hers. 

"I  have  not  done  much,"  she  said;  "but  I  have  had  such  a 
little  time,  and  it  was  difficult — indeed  difficult.  God  will  know 
I  did  my  poor  best.  And  I  never  failed  in  love,  and  I  tried  to 
do  His  will,  but  I  have  done  nothing,  and  I  meant  to  do  so 
much " 

The  King  forced  his  voice. 

"  You  have  been  a  creature  we  were  none  of  us  fit  to  touch," 
he  muttered.  "  You — you — oh,  Marie ! " 

He  hid  his  face  upon  her  hand,  and  she  felt  his  hot  tears  on 
her  fingers. 

"Do  not  grieve,"  she  whispered.  "There  is  still  so  much 
for  you  to  do " 

"  No  more,"  he  answered  passionately ;  "  that  is  over  now — I 
shall  never  do  anything  again — never " 

Mary  half  raised  herself  on  the  pillows;  a  feverish  colour 
came  into  her  cheeks. 

"  You  are  rebelling  against  God,"  she  said,  between  agitated 
breaths.  "  You  must  go  on — your  work  is  not  finished ;  but  the 
prospects  are  so  splendid " 

"  What  is  that  to  me  ?  "  he  answered,  in  bitter  despair.  "  I 
am  a  poor  weak  creature — I  can  do  nothing — it  was  always  you, 
your  hope,  your  faith — I  am  no  better  than  a  thing  of  nought ;  in 
taking  you  God  mocks  me " 

"  No — no,"  cried  Mary,  with  a  desperate  strength.  "  You  are 
going  on — you  will  conquer — do  not  make  it  hard  for  me  to 
die " 

She  sank  on  to  her  pillows,  coughing  a  little. 

"  I  have  prayed  God  not  to  let  you  despair — I  have  asked 
Him  to  comfort  you " 

"There  is  no  more  comfort  for  me,"  he  answered.  "I  want 
you — nothing  but  you  on  earth  or  in  heaven " 

Mary  turned  her  face  towards  him ;  the  dark  auburn  hair, 


250  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

beneath  the  fine  veiling  of  lace,  hung  over  the  edge  of  the 
tumbled  pillow  and  touched  his  hand. 

"Oh,  my  husband,"  she  said  faintly;  "I  have  loved  you 
with  a  passion  that  cannot  end  with  death.  You  cannot — ever 
be  alone  again — I  shall  be  there " 

Her  voice  sank  and  died ;  she  made  an  effort  to  lean  towards 
him.  He  caught  her  to  his  bosom  and  kissed  her  cold  forehead 
with  lips  as  cold. 

"Go  on,"  she  stammered,  "do  not  give  up — the  goal  is 
nearly  won " 

She  became  slack  in  his  arms  ;  he  laid  her  back  on  the  pillow, 
and  rose. 

She  was  smiling  up  at  him,  but  there  was  an  awful  change  in 
her  face. 

He  put  his  hand  before  his  eyes,  and  fell  down  beside  her 
bed,  motionless,  along  the  shining  floor. 

Mary  clasped  her  hands  on  her  bosom,  and  her  head  drooped 
to  one  side ;  she  continually  coughed,  and  her  lids  closed  heavily. 

Lady  Temple  had  run  forward  as  the  King  fell;  Portland 
and  Leeds  raised  and  carried  him,  easily  enough,  into  the 
antechamber. 

Dr.  Radcliffe  gave  the  Queen  a  cordial ;  she  thanked  him, 
and  seemed  a  little  revived. 

"  Let  me  sit  up,"  she  whispered.  Her  ladies  raised  her  against 
the  piled-up  cushions.  "  The  King  " — she  added — "  the  King  ? 
— my  eyes  are  weak — I  thought — he  left  me " 

"  Dear  Lady,"  answered  Dorothy  Temple,  commanding  her 
own  tears,  "  he  is  in  the  next  chamber " 

She  knew  while  she  spoke  that  he  had  fallen  into  a  succes- 
sion of  fits  so  terrible  that  not  one  doctor  there  thought  he 
could  live. 

"  Perhaps,"  gasped  Mary,  "  it  were  better  if  we — were  spared 
— a  final  farewell — I  could  not  well  bear  it " 

She  leant  against  Lady  Temple's  shoulder,  and  her  lips  moved 
in  prayer.  Her  face  was  very  troubled,  and  she  continually  sighed. 

"  Madame,  are  you  at  peace  ?  "  asked  Lady  Temple. 

"  I  am  not  sorry  to  go  to  God,"  she  answered ;  "  but  I  am 
weak  about  the  King — I  would  I  might  have  been  spared  a  little 
longer  with  him." 


THE  BITTER  PARTING  251 

Presently  she  fell  asleep,  peacefully  it  seemed,  and  still  with 
prayers  on  her  lips. 

Lady  Temple  crept  from  the  bed  where  Lady  Portland  pulled 
the  curtains  to  shield  the  Queen  from  the  light,  and  asked  Dr. 
Radcliffe  how  long  it  might  be  now? 

He  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"A  few  hours,  my  lady." 

Dorothy  Temple  burst  out  into  subdued  grief. 

"We  have  the  greatest  loss  in  this  lady !  I  have  known  her 
since  she  was  a  child,  and  she  had  never  a  fault — this  is  a  bitter 
thing  for  all  of  us,  and  for  England." 

The  doctor  answered  grimly — 

"  A  more  bitter  thing  even  than  you  imagine,  my  lady.  I  do 
not  think  the  King  will  live." 

She  looked  at  him  in  utter  terror,  and  at  that  moment  Portland 
came  out  of  the  antechamber. 

"  Will  you  go  to  His  Majesty,  doctor  ?  "  he  said,  in  a  shaking 
voice.  "  Millington  doth  not  know  what  to  do." 

Radcliffe  left  them,  and  Lady  Temple  desperately  seized  hold 
of  Portland's  arm. 

"Oh,  my  lord,"  she  whispered;  "how  is  the  King?" 

" Sorely  stricken,"  he  answered.  "Is  this  to  be  the  end? — 
that  he  should  die  for  a  woman  ! " 

Lady  Portland  came  softly  from  the  bed  to  her  mother  and 
her  husband. 

"  Doth  it  not  seem  cruel  that  the  Queen  should  die  ? "  she 
murmured.  "  They  say  there  is  no  hope " 


"  The  Queen  ! "  echoed  Portland.     "  I  think  of  the  King- 


"  Can  you  not,"  urged  Miss  Temple  anxiously,  "  rouse  him 
and  bring  him  back  to  her  ?  When  she  wakes  she  will  surely 
ask  for  him " 

Portland,  with  a  little  sigh  of  despair  and  weariness,  went 
into  the  antechamber. 

It  was  well  lit  and  full  of  people.  The  King  was  seated  on 
his  camp-bed — a  dishevelled,  pitiful  figure — lamenting  to  himself 
with  a  violence  and  boundless  passion  that  had  the  force  and 
incoherence  of  insanity. 

The  only  one  of  the  company  who  had  the  courage  to  ap- 
proach him  was  a  new-comer,  my  Lord  Sunderland ;  pale,  quiet, 


252  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

elegantly  dressed,  he  stood  between  the  King  and  the  wall,  and 
gazed  down  on  his  master  with  an  extraordinary  expression  of 
resolution  and  consideration. 

Portland  went  up  to  him,  not  without  a  sense  of  jealousy  for 
the  King's  dignity,  that  was  so  shattered  before  these  foreigners 
and  a  man  like  Sunderland. 

"  Sire,"  he  said  firmly.     "  Sire  ! " 

William  did  not  even  look  up ;  he  was  twisting  his  hands  to- 
gether and  staring  at  the  floor,  breaking  out  into  the  bitter 
protests  of  a  mind  deranged. 

Sunderland  looked  sharply  at  Portland. 

"  What  do  you  want  of  him,  my  lord  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  would  recall  him  to  himself  that  he  may  take  farewell  of 
the  Queen,"  answered  Portland  sternly.  "  But  he,  it  seemeth,  is 
no  longer  William  of  Nassau." 

Sunderland  made  no  answer  to  this ;  he  laid  his  hand  lightly 
on  the  King's  shoulder. 

"  Your  Highness  !  "  he  said. 

The  ancient  title  struck  some  chord  of  memory.  The  King 
raised  his  head ;  Sunderland  was  certainly  startled  at  his  face. 

"  Who  spoke  to  me  ?  "  asked  William  thickly. 

"The  Prince  of  Orange,"  answered  the  Earl,  "cannot  fail 
before  anything — the  King  of  England  must  not " 

"Fail?  "muttered  the  King.  "Fail?  Have  I  failed?  They 
put  too  much  upon  me.  Did  they  tell  you  of  the  Queen  ?  My 
enemies  may  be  satisfied  now,  for  I  shall  never  lift  my  head 
again " 

"The  Queen,"  said  Sunderland,  "will  not  depart  in  peace 
unless  she  leaveth  you  calm.  Sire,  for  her  sake  will  you  not  recall 
your  ancient  courage  ?  " 

The  King  shook  his  head  in  a  faint,  exhausted  fashion. 

"  You  would  not  have  thought  that  she  would  die  so  young," 
he  murmured,  "  would  you — she  was  gay,  too — there  was  to 
have  been  a  ball  to-night — and  she  cannot  live  till  morning " 

Lady  Temple  came  from  the  Queen's  room  and  whispered 
something  to  Lord  Portland,  who  instantly  addressed  the  King. 

"Sire,  the  Queen  is  awake." 

William  rose ;  his  cravat  and  waistcoat  were  undone  over 
his  shirt,  his  eyes  bloodshot  and  dim,  his  hair  dishevelled  and 


THE  BITTER  PARTING  253 

damp  on  his  forehead ;  he  seemed  to  be  making  a  tremendous 
effort  for  control ;  he  noticed  his  disordered  clothes. 

"I  would  not  frighten  her" — it  was  Sundeiland  and  not 
Portland  to  whom  he  spoke.  The  Dutchman  drew  back  a  pace. 
It  was  ironical  that  at  such  a  moment  the  King  should  turn  to 
such  a  man ;  but  William  had  first  roused  at  Sunderland's  address, 
and  seemed  to  look  to  him  for  guidance  as  he  had  looked, 
almost  unconsciously,  to  him  for  support  fifteen  years  ago,  in 
the  bitter  days  before  his  marriage. 

The  proud,  stern,  lonely,  and  scorned  young  Prince  had  then 
opened  his  heart  to  the  dishonest,  worldly,  and  cynical  minister, 
and  the  bond  of  sympathy  that  must  have  been  between  them 
then  showed  now,  when  the  King,  fainting  with  mental  agony, 
clung  blindly  to  Sunderland's  unmoved,  gentle  strength. 

Portland  marked  it  then  and  marked  it  now ;  he  felt  his  own 
love  useless  in  the  face  of  my  lord's  charm.  William  had  not 
even  noticed  his  presence.  He  left  him  in  the  arms  of  Sunder- 
land  and  returned  to  the  Queen's  chamber. 

Dr.  Tenison  had  been  reading  the  Scriptures  ta  her,  and 
stood  now  by  her  bed  with  the  Bible  in  his  hand. 

Lady  Temple  and  her  daughter  were  behind  him.  The 
younger  woman  was  crying  sadly. 

Portland  went  up  to  the  other  side  of  the  Queen's  bed. 

Mary  raised  her  deep  brown  eyes  and  looked  at  him 
earnestly. 

"  My  lord,"  she  whispered — he  bent  over  her  and  she  caught 
his  stiff"  cuff  with  feverish  fingers — "  do  not  let  the  King  despair 
...  do  not  let  him  give  up  ...  I  shall  have  indeed  lived  in 
vain  if  he  gives  up  ...  so  near  too  .  .  ."  She  paused  to  gather 
strength,  and  he  was  too  moved  to  answer.  "  At  first  I  was  so 
afraid  of  you,"  she  added  wistfully,  "  so  fearful  of  intruding  on 
you  and  him— you  were  his  friend  before  ever  I  came,  and  will 
be  when  I  am  gone — but  of  late  you  have  tolerated  me — only  a 
woman,  but  I  have  not  hindered  his  destiny — I  let  nothing  stand 
in  the  way  of  his  service — indeed,  if  I  have  ever  vexed  you, 
forgive  me " 

"Madame,"  responded  Portland  tenderly,  "you  have  been 
the  great  comfort  of  all  of  us,  and  we  shall  be  utterly  undone 
without  you," 


254  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

She  shook  her  head  on  the  tumbled  pillow. 

"  I  was  only  a  foreigner — a  stranger ;  you  were  ever  extra- 
ordinarily kind  to  me — do  not  let  the  King  stop — for  this." 

She  fell  on  to  silence,  being  greatly  weakened  by  this  effort 
of  speech,  and  Portland  withdrew  to  the  end  of  the  bed  to  allow 
Dr.  Radcliffe  to  approach. 

The  Queen's  words  had  roused  curious  memories  in  the  mind 
of  William  Bentinck.  It  did  not  seem  so  many  years  ago  since 
the  fair,  thoughtless,  timid  English  girl  had  come,  as  she  said, 
a  foreigner — a  stranger — to  The  Hague,  unwanted,  mistrusted, 
despised  for  her  youth  and  her  kinsman's  treachery,  regarded  by 
her  husband  as  an  interruption — a  vexation — the  mere  burden  of  a 
marriage  of  convenience  that  had  been  a  political  failure ;  and 
now  she  had  grown  to  be  the  support  of  all  his  designs,  and  he 
was  brought  to  a  madness  of  despair  because  she  lay  dying,  and 
those  same  aims  and  endeavours  which  her  coming  had  intruded 
upon,  to  his  anger,  were  now  nothing  to  him  if  she  should  no 
longer  be  there  to  share  them. 

It  was  now  past  midnight.  The  Queen,  having  swallowed  Dr. 
Radcliffe's  cordial,  spoke  again,  and  took  farewell  of  her  ladies. 

"  This  was  to  have  been  our  dance  to-night,"  she  murmured. 
"  I  am  sorry  to  have  spoilt  your  pleasure " 

"  There  will  never  be  any  more  pleasure  for  me,"  answered 
Dorothy  Temple,  who  loved  her  exceedingly,  "  until  I  meet  Your 
Majesty  in  heaven " 

Mary  was  silent,  lying  very  still.  There  was  a  little  stir  in  the 
chamber  as  the  King  entered,  followed  by  Lord  Sunderland,  who 
kept  his  eyes  on  him  keenly. 

The  King  went  straight  to  his  wife's  side,  and  lifted  the 
glittering  curtain  up. 

The  silence  was  heavy  as  these  two  looked  at  each  other. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said,  "what  to  do — what  you  would  have  me 
do " 

The  Queen  tried  to  answer;  but  speech  was  beyond  her 
power ;  and  when  she  found  that  she  could  no  more  speak  to 
him,  for  the  might  of  death  on  her  tongue,  two  tears  rolled  down 
her  hollow  cheeks,  and,  by  the  size  of  them,  it  was  seen  that  she 
was  dying  indeed,  for  they  were  large  as  the  grey  pearls  in  her 
ears. 


THE  BITTER  PARTING  255 

"  Give  me  one  word,"  said  the  King,  and  he  bent  low  over 
her.  She  made  a  second  attempt,  but  in  vain.  A  long  shudder 
shook  her,  blood  came  to  her  lips,  and  the  tears  on  her  face 
rolled  off  on  to  the  pillow. 

"  She  cannot  speak  ! "  exclaimed  the  King ;  he  fell  along  the 
bed  and  laid  his  face  against  her  hand.  Sunderland  touched 
him.  He  gave  a  sighing  sob  like  a  woman,  and  fainted. 

My  Lord  Leeds  helped  lift  and  carry  him  to  the  back  of  the 
chamber ;  the  others  remained  about  the  Queen,  who  was  sinking 
so  rapidly  that  they  feared  she  would  go  before  the  King  recovered 
his  senses. 

She  put  up  her  hands  in  the  attitude  of  praying,  then 
dropped  them  and  turned  her  head  about  on  the  pillow  as 
if  she  looked  for  the  King ;  not  seeing  him,  she  moaned  and 
fell  into  a  little  swoon,  breathing  heavily. 

The  watchers  held  painful  vigil  thus  for  near  an  hour,  when 
she  opened  her  eyes  suddenly  and  began  to  speak,  in  a  distinct 
though  low  voice;  but  the  words  she  used  showed  that  her 
thoughts  began  to  break. 

"We  have  such  a  short  time,"  she  said,  "what  can  any  of 
us  do  ? — I  hope  this  will  show  you  cannot  expose  yourself  with 
impunity — I  shall  give  God  thanks  as  long  as  I  live  for  having 
preserved  you — think  of  me  a  little  and  be  more  careful — Lord 
Nottingham  saw  my  tears,  I  could  not  restrain — my  father,  my 
father,  there  is  such  a  great  light  here,  like  the  sun  at  Twicken- 
ham, no,  The  Hague — a  letter  at  last — he  loves,  after  all " 

She  moved  and  half  sat  up;  the  lace  had  fallen  from  her 
head,  and  her  hair  hung  in  a  dark  mass  over  her  shoulders; 
an  extraordinary  look  of  ecstasy  overspread  her  wan  face. 

11  Give  me  the  child,"  she  whispered,  and  held  out  her  arms ; 
then  she  coughed  a  little  and  dropped  back. 

A  slight  convulsion  shook  her ;  her  breath  clove  her  lips 
apart,  and  her  lids  fluttered  over  her  eyes. 

The  clergymen  were  on  their  knees  reading  the  prayer  for 
the  dying.  As  they  finished,  Dr.  Radcliffe  put  out  the  candle, 
on  the  table  by  the  bed,  that  shone  over  the  Queen's  face. 

"  It  is  over,"  he  said ;  "  Her  Majesty  is  dead." 

The  Palace  clock  struck  the  four  quarters,  and  then  the 
hour  of  one. 


256  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

The  King  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  about  him  on  the 
hushed  kneeling  figures.  Portland  endeavoured  to  restrain 
him,  but  he  rose  from  the  couch  and  moved  slowly  and 
languidly  towards  the  bed. 

No  one  dared  speak  or  move. 

When  he  saw  the  still,  disordered  coverlet,  the  shadowed 
face,  the  white  hand  on  which  the  wedding-ring  glowed 
ghastly  bright,  he  put  his  hand  to  his  breast,  and  stood  for 
a  full  minute  so,  gazing  at  her;  then  his  senses  reeled  back 
to  oblivion  and  again  he  fainted,  falling  at  the  feet  of  the 
Archbishop,  as  that  clergyman  rose  from  his  knees. 

As  he  lay  along  the  floor  they  marked  how  slight  and  frail 
he  was,  and,  when  they  lifted  him,  how  light  his  weight,  and 
how  reluctantly  and  slowly  the  heart  that  had  once  beaten  so 
high  now  stirred  in  his  bosom. 


PART  III 
THE   KING 


"Man  is  God's  masterpiece." 

FRANCIS  QUARLKS 


CHAPTER  I 
VITA  SINE  AMORE  MORS  EST 

HENRY  SIDNEY,  Lord  Romney,  and  the  Earl  of  Port- 
land were  walking  up  and  down  the  cloisters  of 
Westminster  Abbey.  It  was  the  end  of  April — a  bitter  spring 
following  a  severe  winter;  constant  clouds  blotted  out  the 
sun,  and  sudden  falls  of  snow  had  left  the  square  of  grass  in 
the  centre  of  the  cloisters  wet  and  white. 

The  Earl,  muffled  to  the  chin  in  a  red  mantle,  and  carrying 
a  great  muff  of  brown  fur,  was  talking  earnestly  to  Lord  Romney, 
who,  though  a  feather-head  and  useless  in  politics,  was  more 
loved  by  the  King  than  any  Englishman,  and  of  unimpeachable 
loyalty  to  the  throne. 

"  This,"  said  Portland,  with  energy,  "  is  death  or  madness — 
nay,  worse  than  either,  for  he  is  but  a  figure  of  himself  that 
deceiveth  us  into  thinking  we  have  a  King." 

"God  knoweth,"  returned  Romney,  who  looked  old  and 
worn,  sad  and  dejected,  "  never  have  we  so  needed  his  wisdom 
and  his  courage.  Whom  can  we  trust  since  the  death  of  Her 
Majesty?  Not  even  my  Lord  Nottingham." 

"Sunderland,"  said  the  Earl,  "is  creeping  back  to  favour — 
the  knave  of  two  reigns,  who  would  get  a  third  King  in  his 
clutches — and  the  Lord  Keeper  is  very  active  in  the  House. 
Now  I  have  done  what  I  can  to  transact  necessary  business 
since  the  Queen's  death — but  I  cannot  do  much,  for  the 
malice  against  foreigners  is  incredible " 

"No  one  but  the  King  can  do  anything!"  broke  out 
Romney. 

"I  at  least  can  do  no  more,"  admitted  Portland.  "And 
certainly  my  heart  misgiveth  me  that  this  is  going  to  be  the 
end — in  miserable  failure." 

'59 


260  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"  Why — not  failure,"  protested  the  Englishman. 

Portland  paused  by  the  clustered  pillars  which  divided  the 
open  windows;  a  few  ghastly  flakes  of  snow  were  falling  from 
a  disturbed  sky  against  the  worn,  crumbling,  and  grey  masonry. 

"  Miserable  failure,"  repeated  the  Earl ;  his  fine  fair  face  was 
pale  and  stern  in  the  colourless  shadows  of  the  heavy  arches. 
"Parliament  needeth  a  leader,  the  Republic  needeth  her 
magistrate,  the  allies  their  commander — there  is  very  much  to 
do — with  every  day,  more — and  the  man  who  should  do  it 
is  as  useless  as  a  sick  girl." 

"I  think,"  said  Romney,  with  some  gentleness,  "that  his 
heart  is  broken." 

"A  man,"  flashed  Portland,  "hath  no  right  to  a  broken 
heart.  Good  |God,  could  we  not  all  discover  broken  hearts 
if  we  took  time  to  probe  them  ?  I  know  the  Queen's  worth, 
what  she  was  to  him,  and  all  of  us — but  is  she  served  by  this 
weakness  of  grief?  He  would  best  commemorate  her  by 
making  no  pause  in  his  task." 

"  That  is  a  hard  doctrine,"  answered  the  Ertglishman  half  sadly. 

"  It  is  a  hard  fate  to  be  a  great  man,  my  lord — the  destinies 
of  nations  are  not  made  easily  nor  cheaply.  When  the  King 
began  his  task  he  was  prepared  for  the  price — he  should  not 
now  shirk  the  paying  of  it " 

"It  is  higher  than  he  thought  would  be  exacted,  my  lord." 

Portland  answered  sternly — 

"You  surely  do  not  understand.  What  was  she,  after  all, 
but  an  incident?  He  had  been  ten  years  at  his  work  before 
she  came." 

The  snow  fell  suddenly,  and,  caught  and  whirled  by  a 
powerful  wind,  filled  the  air  with  a  thick  whiteness  like 
spreading  smoke;  it  blew  against  the  two  gentlemen,  and  in 
a  second  covered  their  mantles  with  glittering  crystals. 

Romney  stepped  back  and  shook  it  from  him. 

"  Shall  we  not  go  into  the  church,"  he  said,  with  a  shiver, 
"and  persuade  the  King  return?" 

"  It  doth  not  matter  if  he  be  at  her  grave  or  in  his  cabinet," 
answered  Portland  gloomily,  "since  his  temper  is  the  same 
wherever  he  be." 

Romney  turned  towards  the  low  door  that  led  into  the  Abbey. 


VITA  SINE  AMORE  MORS  EST          261 

"  Did  you  mark,"  he  said  irrelevantly,  "  that  the  robin  was 
still  on  her  gravestone  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Portland;  "it  hath  been  singing  there  since 
she  was  buried." 

They  entered  the  large,  mysterious  church.  The  snowstorm 
had  so  obscured  the  light  from  the  tall,  high  windows  that 
the  columns,  roof,  and  tombs  were  alike  enveloped  in  a  deep 
shade;  it  was  very  cold  and  the  air  hung  misty  and  heavy. 

Above  the  altar,  to  their  right,  swung  a  red  burning  lamp  that 
gave  no  light,  but  showed  as  a  sudden  gleam  of  crimson. 

On  the  altar  itself  burnt  four  tall  candles  that  glowed  on 
the  polished  gold  sacred  vessels  and  faintly  showed  the  sweep  of 
marble  and  the  violet-hued  carpet  beyond  the  brass  rails  which 
divided  the  altar  from  the  steps. 

There  was  only  one  person  visible  in  this  large,  cold,  dark 
church,  and  that  was  a  man  in  the  front  pew,  entirely  in  black, 
who  neither  sat  nor  knelt,  but  drooped  languidly  against  the 
wooden  rest  in  fronf  of  him,  with  his  face  hidden  in  his  right  hand. 

Portland  and  Romney  took  off  their  hats  and  approached 
the  altar;  they  had  nearly  reached  it  before  they  noticed  the 
King,  whom  they  had  left  at  his  wife's  grave. 

Their  footsteps  were  very  noticeable  in  the  sombre  stillness. 
The  King  looked  up  and  rose,  holding  heavily  to  the  arm  of 
the  pew. 

Romney  hesitated,  but  Portland  stepped  up  to  William. 

"  We  had  best  return,  sire." 

The  King  was  silent,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  altar  and  the 
fluttering  gold  light  that  dwelt  there — a  radiance  in  the  gloom. 

Portland  touched  his  arm  and  he  moved  then,  with  no  sign 
of  animation,  towards  the  Abbey  door ;  his  two  friends  followed 
shivering  in  the  great  spaces  of  the  church  that  were  more 
bitterly  cold  than  the  outer  air. 

The  King's  eyes  turned  to  the  shadowed  dark  aisles  which 
led  to  the  chapel  of  the  seventh  Henry  and  the  spot  where  the 
Queen,  a  few  months  ago  young,  and  beautiful,  and  gay,  now  lay 
among  her  royal  kinsmen,  dust  with  dust. 

The  King  opened  the  heavy  door  and  stepped  out  into  the 
bitter  light  of  the  snowstorm  which  hid  sky  and  houses,  whitened 
the  coach  waiting  and  the  liveries  of  the  impatient  footmen  who 


262  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

walked  about  in  the  endeavour  to  keep  warm.  The  King  himself 
was  in  an  instant  covered  from  head  to  foot ;  he  gave  a  lifeless 
shudder  as  one  so  sick  with  the  world  that  sun  and  snow  were 
alike  to  him. 

He  entered  the  coach  and  the  two  lords  followed  him ;  there 
was  no  word  spoken ;  his  friends  had  lost  heart  in  the  fruitless 
endeavour  of  comfort ;  he  had  scarcely  spoken  since  the  Queen's 
death,  scarcely  raised  his  eyes ;  for  six  weeks  he  had  remained 
in  his  chamber,  and  now  he  came  abroad  it  was  to  no  purpose, 
for  he  took  no  interest  in  anything  in  life. 

He  gave  himself  much  to  religious  observances,  and  was 
often  closeted  with  the  Archbishop ;  he  uttered  no  word  of  com- 
plaint, never  even  had  mentioned  his  wife's  name,  which  was  the 
more  remarkable  after  the  first  frantic  passion  of  his  grief;  he 
would  attend  to  no  business  and  see  no  one ;  he  replied  to  the 
addresses  of  the  Houses  only  by  a  few  incoherent  words ;  his 
answers  as  they  appeared  in  the  Gazette  were  written  by  Portland. 

He  fainted  often,  and  his  spirits  sunk  so  low  that  the  doctors 
feared  he  would  die  of  mere  apathy,  for  all  their  devices  were 
useless  to  rouse  him  to  any  desire  to  live. 

Portland  could  do  nothing.  M.  Heinsius,  Grand  Pensionary 
of  Holland,  wrote  in  vain  from  The  Hague ;  that  long,  intimate, 
and  important  correspondence  was  broken  by  the  King  for  the 
first  time  since  his  accession ;  the  allies  clamoured  in  vain  for  him 
whose  guidance  alone  kept  the  coalition  together ;  factions  raged 
in  parliament  with  no  authority  to  check  them ;  the  Jacobites 
raised  their  heads  again,  and,  the  moment  the  breath  was  out 
of  the  Queen,  began  their  plots  for  a  French  invasion  and  the 
assassination  of  the  one  frail  life  that  stood  for  the  forces  of 
Protestantism ;  this  was  generally  known,  though  not  proved, 
but  the  King  cared  for  none  of  it. 

The  home  government,  since  the  retirement  of  Leeds  after 
the  East  India  scandal,  was  in  many  hands,  mostly  incompetent ; 
foreign  affairs  fared  worse,  for  these  the  King  had  always  kept 
almost  entirely  in  his  own  control,  and  had  scarcely  even 
partially  trusted  any  of  his  English  ministers  on  these  matters, 
that,  as  he  was  well  aware,  neither  their  knowledge  nor  their 
characters  fitted  them  to  deal  with.  Portland  held  many  of  the 
clues  to  the  King's  immense  and  intricate  international  policy, 


VITA  SINE  AMORE  MORS  EST         263 

and  he  had  done  what  he  could  with  matters  that  would  not 
wait,  but  he  could  not  do  everything,  nor  do  anything  for  long, 
and  what  he  could  not  do  was  left  undone. 

As  the  Royal  coach  swung  into  Whitehall  courtyard  the  sudden 
snowstorm  had  ceased  and  a  pale,  cold  ray  of  sun  pierced  the 
disturbed  clouds. 

The  King  had  lately  taken  a  kind  of  horror  to  his  villa  at 
Kensington,  and  resided  at  Whitehall,  though  he  had  always 
detested  this  palace,  and  the  foul  air  of  London  was  perilous  to 
his  health. 

There  was,  however,  no  pretence  even  of  a  Court.  The  ladies, 
with  their  music,  their  sewing,  their  cards  and  tea  drinking,  had 
vanished ;  the  Princess  Anne,  nominally  reconciled  to  the  King, 
lived  at  St.  James's,  and  no  woman  came  to  Court  now ;  the  great 
galleries,  chambers,  and  corridors  were  empty  save  for  a  few 
Dutch  sentries  and  ushers  and  an  occasional  great  lord  or  foreign 
envoy  waiting  to  ask  my  Lord  Portland  when  His  Majesty  would 
be  fit  to  do  business. 

Without  a  word  or  a  look  to  any  the  King  passed  through 
the  antechamber  to  his  private  apartments.  Portland  stopped 
to  speak  to  Lord  Sunderland,  who  was  talking  to  the  Lord 
Keeper,  Sir  John  Somers,  the  Whig  lawyer,  as  industrious, 
as  honest,  and  as  charming  as  any  man  in  England,  and  an 
extraordinary  contrast  to  Sunderland  in  character.  The  two 
were,  however,  for  a  moment  in  league,  and  had  together 
brought  about  that  reconciliation  of  the  King  and  the  Princess 
Anne  that  set  the  throne  on  a  firmer  basis,  though  neither  had 
as  yet  dared  to  bring  forward  my  Lord  Marlborough. 

Romney,  who  disliked  the  everyday  virtues  of  the  middle- 
class  Lord  Keeper,  would  have  preferred  to  follow  the  King,  but 
William  gave  him  no  invitation,  but  entered  his  apartments  and 
closed  the  door,  so  he  had  to  join  the  little  group  of  three. 

Their  talk  was  for  a  while  of  general  matters — of  the  heats  in 
parliament  and  the  prospects  of  the  campaign  of  the  allies  under 
Waldeck  and  Vaudemont ;  each  was  silent  about  the  matter 
uppermost  in  his  mind — the  recovery  of  the  King.  Portland, 
the  lifelong  friend,  upright,  noble,  stern  ;  Romney,  gay,  impul- 
sive, shallow,  but  loyal  and  honest ;  Somers,  worthy,  tireless,  a 
Whig,  and  of  the  people ;  Sunderland,  aristocrat  and  twice  told  a 


264  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

traitor,  shameless,  secretive,  and  fascinating,  by  far  the  finest 
statesman  of  the  four — all  these  had  one  object  in  common,  to 
rouse  the  man  on  whom  depended  the  whole  machinery  of  the 
English  government  and  the  whole  fate  of  the  huge  coalition 
against  France,  which  had  taken  twenty  years  to  form. 

Sunderland,  heartily  disliked  by  the  other  three,  yet  master  of 
all  of  them,  suddenly,  with  delicate  precision,  came  to  the  heart 
of  the  matter. 

"  Unless  all  Europe  is  to  slip  back  into  the  hands  of  France," 
he  said,  "  the  King  must  take  up  his  duties." 

"This  temper  of  his  is  making  him  most  unpopular," 
remarked  Somers,  who,  honestly  grateful  to  his  master,  had 
always  endeavoured  to  turn  people  and  parliament  to  an  affection 
for  the  King.  "Though  the  Queen  was  greatly  beloved  they 
resent  this  long  mourning." 

"She  held  the  King  and  country  together,"  answered 
Sunderland.  "  Her  English  birth,  her  tactful,  pretty  ways  did 
His  Majesty  more  service  here  than  a  deal  of  statecraft — the 
Jacks  know  that ;  the  country  is  swarming  with  them,  and  unless 
it  is  all  to  end  in  disaster — the  King  must  act  his  old  part." 

Portland  flushed. 

"  You  say  so,  my  lord,  but  who  is  to  rouse  a  man  utterly 
prostrate  ?  Nothing  availeth  to  draw  him  from  his  sloth." 

"He  is  neither  dead  nor  mad,"  said  Sunderland  calmly. 
"  And  grief  is  a  thing  that  may  be  mastered.  He  should  go  to 
Flanders  in  May  and  take  command  of  the  allies." 

"  It  is  impossible  ! "  broke  out  Sidney.  "  Did  you  mark  him 
but  now  ?  He  hardly  lifts  his  eyes  from  the  floor,  and  I  have 
not  heard  him  speak  one  word  these  ten  days." 

Sunderland  answered  quietly — 

"  A  man  who  hath  done  what  he  hath  cannot  utterly  sink 
into  apathy — there  is  a  spirit  in  him  which  must  respond,  if  it 
be  but  rightly  called  upon." 

"  Will  you  essay  to  rouse  His  Majesty  ? "  asked  Portland 
haughtily. 

Sunderland's  long  eyes  narrowed. 

"  I  am  bold  to  try  where  your  lordship  hath  failed,"  he  said, 
with  a  deference  that  was  like  insolence  ;  "  but  it  is  a  question  of 
great  matters,  and  I  will  make  the  trial." 


VITA  SINE  AMORE  MORS  EST         265 

"  You  will  make  it  in  vain,  my  lord,"  answered  Romney.  "  The 
King  is  beyond  even  your  arts." 

Sunderland  delicately  lifted  his  shoulders. 

"  We  can  but  see."  He  looked  rather  cynically  round  the 
other  three  men.  "  If  the  King  is  out  of  the  reach  of  reason  it  is 
as  well  we  should  know  it,  my  lords." 

Portland  did  not  reply.  He  bitterly  resented  that  this  man, 
whom  he  scorned  and  despised,  should  gain  this  intimacy  with 
the  King's  weakness;  but  he  led  the  way  to  William's  apart- 
ments. He  had  practically  control  of  affairs  since  the  King's 
collapse,  and  no  one  questioned  his  coming  or  going. 

They  found  William  in  his  cabinet  that  overlooked  the  privy 
gardens,  at  the  bottom  of  which  the  river  rolled  black  and  dismal 
in  contrast  to  the  glitter  of  the  snow  on  the  paths  and  flower- 
beds. 

The  King  sat  by  the  window,  gazing  out  on  this  prospect,  his 
head  sunk  on  his  breast  and  his  left  arm  along  the  sill  of  the 
window.  The  crimson  cut  crystal  bracelet  round  his  wrist  was 
the  only  light  or  colour  on  his  person,  for  he  wore  no  sword,  and 
his  heavy  black  clothes  were  unbraided  and  plain ;  the  consider- 
able change  in  his  appearance  was  largely  heightened  by  this 
complete  mourning,  for  he  had  seldom  before  worn  black,  having, 
indeed,  a  curious  distaste  to  it.  He  had  been  born  in  a  room 
hung  with  funeral  trappings  and  lit  only  with  candles,  and  for 
the  first  months  of  his  life  never  left  this  black  chamber,  which 
had  caused,  perhaps,  a  certain  revulsion  in  him  to  the  sables  of 
mourning,  which  he  had  worn  only  once  before,  when,  a  pale 
child  of  ten,  he  had  been  dressed  in  black  for  his  young  mother, 
that  other  Mary  Stewart  whose  coffin  lay  in  Westminster  within 
a  few  feet  of  that  of  his  wife. 

He  did  not  seem  to  notice  that  any  had  entered  upon  his 
privacy.  Portland  glanced  back  at  Romney  and  the  Lord  Keeper 
with  a  look  that  seemed  to  convey  that  he  felt  hopeless  of  my 
Lord  Sunderland  doing  what  he  had  boasted ;  but  that  lord 
went  forward  with  his  usual  quiet  carriage. 

A  large  fire  filled  the  room  with  cheerful  light  that  glowed 
on  the  polished  Dutch  pottery  and  rich  Dutch  pictures  on  the 
mantelshelf  and  walls.  On  a  marquetry  bureau,  with  glittering 
brass  fuchsia-shaped  handles,  was  a  pile  of  unopened  letters,  and 


266  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

amid  them  a  blue-glazed  earthenware  dragon  that  used  to  stand 
in  the  Queen's  withdrawing-room  at  Hampton  Court. 

Sunderland  paused,  looking  at  the  King.  The  three  other 
men  remained  inside  the  door,  watching  with  painful  attention. 

"  Sire,"  said  the  Earl,  "  there  is  news  from  France.  M.  de 
Luxembourg,  who  was  your  greatest  enemy,  is  dead." 

The  King  did  not  move. 

"It  is  a  great  loss  to  King  Louis,"  added  Sunderland. 
"They  say  M.  de  Villeroy  is  to  have  the  command." 

William  slowly  turned  his  head  and  looked  at  the  speaker,  but 
without  interest  or  animation,  almost,  it  seemed,  without  recogniti  on. 

Sunderland  came  nearer.  A  book  was  lying  on  the  window- 
seat,  he  glanced  at  it — it  was  Dr.  Tenison's  sermon  on  the  text, 
"I  have  sworn  and  am  steadfastly  purposed  to  keep  thy 
righteous  judgments,"  which  had  been  preached  after  the  Queen's 
death,  and  printed  by  the  King's  command. 

Sunderland  spoke  again. 

"The  Whigs   have  ousted   my  Lord   Leeds   and  his   friend 
Trevor — and  continue  to  press  heavily  upon  him." 

Again  it  was  doubtful  if  the  King  heard ;  he  fixed  his  large 
mournful  eyes  steadily  upon  the  Earl,  and  made  no  sign  nor  answer. 

Sunderland,  finding  neither  of  these  matters  touched  the  King, 
drew  from  the  bosom  of  his  grey  satin  waistcoat  a  roll  of  papers. 

"Mr.  Wren  showed  me  these  this  morning,"  he  said,  "and 
doubted  if  he  dared  bring  them  to  Your  Majesty.  They  are 
those  plans  for  the  turning  of  Greenwich  Palace  into  a  hospital 
that  Her  Majesty  had  ever  at  heart." 

The  three  men  watching  caught  their  breath  at  the  delicate 
bluntness  of  my  lord.  This  time  there  could  be  no  doubt  that 
the  King  had  heard ;  he  made  some  incoherent  answer  and  held 
out  his  hand  for  the  plans,  which  he  unrolled  and  gazed  at. 

"It  should  be  a  noble  monument,"  said  the  Earl  softly, 
"  to  Her  Majesty  and  those  who  fell  at  La  Hogue  fight.  Mr. 
Wren  would  have  an  inscription  along  the  river  frontage  saying 
she  built  it,  and  a  statue  of  her — looking  along  the  Thames 
to  London." 

The  King  answered  in  a  low  voice — 

"  Let  it  be  put  in  hand  at  once." 

"Will  Your  Majesty  see  Mr.  Wren?" 


VITA  SINE  AMORE  MORS  EST          267 

William  lifted  his  eyes  from  the  drawings. 

"No — let  him  get  to  work,"  he  murmured;  then,  after  a 
second,  "Do  you  not  think  it  will  be  a  worthy  monument?" 

"  So  fine  that  I  can  but  think  of  one  more  worthy,"  answered 
Sunderland. 

A  languid  colour  touched  the  King's  hollow  cheek. 

"What  is  that?" 

"The  completion  of  Your  Majesty's  life-work." 

There  was  silence.  The  King  paled  again  and  looked  out  of 
the  window. 

"  I  cannot  talk  of  business,"  he  said  hoarsely,  after  a  while. 

"  I  speak  of  the  Queen — her  wishes,"  answered  Sunderland. 
"She  greatly  desired  the  building  of  Greenwich  Hospital,  but 
she  still  more  desired  the  preservation  of  this  realm — and  of  the 
Republic." 

At  this  last  word  the  King  gave  a  little  shiver. 

"The  Republic,"  repeated  Sunderland,  "needeth  Your 
Majesty." 

William  looked  round  again — his  face  was  troubled. 

"  You  speak  to  a  dead  man,"  he  said,  in  a  hurried  whisper. 
"  I  have  finished." 

"If  that  be  so,"  replied  the  Earl,  "we  and  the  United 
Provinces  are  lost,  and  King  Louis  will  triumph  after  all,  yea, 
after  all  the  toil,  and  loss,  and  patience,  and  endeavour,  France 
will  triumph  over  Europe.  Your  Majesty  had  better  not  have 
flung  the  gauntlet  in  '72 — better  to  have  bowed  to  France  then 
than  submit  now." 

The  King  seemed  disturbed ;  he  laid  the  plans  of  Greenwich 
down  and  moved  his  hands  restlessly. 

"  I  am  not  fit  for — anything,"  he  muttered.  "  I  am  not 
capable  of  military  command — there  are  others — I  have  been  at 
this  work  twenty  years — let  some  other  take  it  up " 

"There  is  no  other,"  said  Sunderland.  "This  is  Your 
Majesty's  task,  and  no  one  else  can  undertake  it." 

The  King  looked  round  in  a  desperate  fashion ;  he  saw  the 
three  men  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

"  Why  do  you  come  baiting  me  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  tell  you  there 
is  nothing  more  in  me  " — he  laid  his  hand  on  his  heart — "  all  is 
dead — here." 


268  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

A  sudden  violent  cough  shook  him ;  he  gasped  with  pain. 

"  In  a  few  months  I  shall  be  with  her,"  he  added,  and  his 
voice  was  so  weak  and  shaken  that  Sunderland  could  scarcely 
catch  the  words. 

"Doth  not  Your  Majesty  believe  in  predestination?" 

William  was  silent. 

"  Doth  not  Your  Majesty  believe  that  God  hath  some  further 
use  for  you  ?  " 

The  King  answered  simply  and  with  infinite  sadness — 

"  I  think  He  hath  had  from  me  all  the  work  I  am  capable 
of." 

11  No,"  said  Sunderland.  "  Your  greatest  tasks,  your  greatest 
victories  lie  before  you.  William  of  Nassau  will  not  die  while 
the  battle  rageth.  God,  who  put  you  in  the  vanguard  of  the 
world,  will  not  let  you  fall  out  with  the  deserters." 

The  King  drew  a  sharp  breath ;  he  seemed  considerably 
moved  and  agitated  ;  his  dark  eyes  turned  to  Sunderland. 

"  What  is  it  to  you  whether  I  fail  or  no  ?  "  he  asked  wildly. 

The  Earl  smiled. 

"  I  stand  for  England,  sire.  Besides  that,  I  always  believed 
in  you,  and  you  are  the  only  man  in  Europe  worth  serving." 

William  flushed. 

"  You  speak  very  boldly." 

"  I  spoke  boldly  to  Your  Majesty  in  '77.  I  said  to  you  then, 
you  are  the  Prince  for  England — your  moment  will  come.  The 
little  things,  sir,  often  clog,  and  hamper,  and  bewilder,  but  in  the 
end  the  big  things  win — as  Your  Majesty  will  win,  though 
through  wearisome  ways.  Sir,  kingdoms  are  large  stakes.  Sir,  to 
be  a  champion  of  a  creed  is  a  great  responsibility,  and  he  who 
taketh  it  up  must  forgo  the  grief  of  common  men,  for  surely  his 
tears  are  demanded  as  well  as  his  blood." 

William  sat  motionless,  with  his  hand  to  his  side. 

"  You  think  I  can  take  it  all  up  again  ? "  he  asked,  in  his 
hoarse,  strained  voice.  "  My  God  !  I  think  it  is  too  late." 

Sunderland  turned  and  whispered  something  to  Somers,  who 
left  the  room ;  to  the  King  he  said — 

"  I  entreat  Your  Majesty  see  a  young  officer  new  come  from 
Flanders." 


CHAPTER   II 
THE   KING   IS   NEEDED 

£*  UNDERLAND  remained  by  the  silent  King,  on  whom  he 
O  kept  his  clear,  strong  glance ;  Portland  and  the  beautiful 
Romney  went  into  the  antechamber,  where  they  could  speak 
freely. 

"  What  charlatan's  trick  is  this  ?  "  said  the  Earl,  in  a  low, 
angry  voice.  "  Who  is  this  officer  from  Flanders  ?  It  is  strange 
to  hear  my  Lord  Sunderland  mouth  these  godly  sentiments — he, 
a  man  merely  fighting  for  a  place " 

"Yet  he  spoke,"  admitted  Romney,  "and  we  were  silent. 
And  he  roused  the  King.  If  it  be  mere  self-interest  it  had  the 
effect  of  sincerity." 

Portland  made  no  answer ;  he  knew  that  he  could  not  have 
spoken  to  William  with  the  quiet  tact  and  insinuating  boldness 
that  Sunderland  had,  but  he  knew  also  that  he  had  served  and 
loved  the  King  in  a  way  Sunderland  could  probably  not  even 
understand,  and  his  heart  swelled  at  what  he  considered  calculated 
tricks  to  goad  the  King  into  filling  a  position  where  he  might  be 
useful  to  my  lord ;  in  this  Portland's  rigid  honesty  was  unfair  to 
Sunderland,  who,  though  he  was  knavish  sometimes  in  his  means, 
was  seldom  knavish  in  his  ends,  and  perhaps  strove  for  as  high 
an  ideal  as  William  Bentinck,  though  by  different  ways. 

Lord  Romney  spoke  again. 

"  After  all,  what  doth  it  matter — if  the  King  could  be  drawn 
out  of  his  sloth  ?  " 

Portland's  fair  face  was  still  dark  and  sombre;  he  rather 
despised  the  Englishman ;  he  rather  regretted  the  day  when  he 
had  come  to  England  to  take  up  these  perilous  honours  among 
a  people  who  detested  him.  Romney  glanced  at  him,  gave  a 

little  shrug,  and  returned  to   the   King's  room;   his  love  for 

369 


270  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

William  was  of  a  different  quality,  his  code  was  easier ;  he  was 
thankful  that  the  King  should,  under  any  circumstances,  recover 
his  balance,  and  he,  Henry  Sidney,  could  see  no  great  dishonour 
in  the  public  actions  of  my  Lord  Sunderland,  and  regarded  him 
from  no  such  stern  standpoint  as  did  William  Bentinck. 

He  found  the  King  had  moved  and  now  sat  beside  the 
bureau  piled  with  the  untouched  correspondence.  Sunderland 
was  still  at  the  window  looking  out  at  the  inky  line  of  the  river 
between  the  white  banks  and  the  slow  progress  of  a  barge  with 
dull  yellow  sails  that  struggled  with  a  sluggish  wind  past  White- 
hall stairs. 

Romney  went  over  to  him. 

"  You  have  done  much,  my  lord,"  he  whispered  warmly ; 
"  we  must  all  be  grateful." 

Sunderland  turned  his  faded,  powdered  face  from  the  window. 

"  He  will  finish  the  campaign  yet,  I  think,"  he  answered. 

The  Lord  Keeper  and  Lord  Portland  re-entered  the  room, 
and  with  them  was  a  third  gentleman,  who  went  at  once  to  Lord 
Sunderland,  like  one  waiting  for  directions ;  that  nobleman  took 
him  gently  by  the  arm  and  drew  him  towards  the  King,  who  had 
not  yet  looked  up. 

"Sire,"  he  said,  "Your  Majesty  knoweth  M.  van  Keppel, 
who  hath  been  some  years  in  your  service." 

The  King  raised  his  eyes  and  saw  the  splendid  figure  of  a 
young  Dutch  officer  standing  before  him  with  great  humility  and 
respect. 

"Yes,  I  remember  you,  Mynheer,"  he  murmured,  with  a 
faint  animation,  and  speaking  his  own  language. 

Sunderland  stepped  back  and  the  young  soldier  went  on  one 
knee. 

"  Are  you  come  from  Flanders  ?  "  asked  William. 

"Yes,  sire." 

"  From  my  Cousin  Vaudemont's  force  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sire." 

"  What  is  your  business  with  us  ?  "  asked  the  King  faintly. 

Joost  van  Keppel  rose. 

"  My  business  is  more  than  I  dare  broach,"  he  said  humbly. 

The  King  looked  at  him  kindly. 

"  I  shall  not  be  angry."     He  exerted  himself  to  graciousness, 


THE  KING  IS  NEEDED  271 

and  his  glance  seemed  to  rest  with  a  wistful  kind  of  pleasure  on 
the  youth. 

Certainly  Joost  van  Keppel  had  an  appearance  well  calcu- 
lated to  win  the  hearts  of  those  who  looked  upon  him,  for  a 
mingled  sweetness  and  ardour  made  a  kind  of  radiance  in  his 
face,  as  if  he  gave  forth  the  light  of  hope  and  courage.  He  was 
tall  and  robust,  of  a  bright  fairness,  with  dark  brown  eyes  of  an 
extraordinary  power  and  gentleness,  a  smiling,  strong  mouth,  and 
a  fine  carriage  of  nobility  in  his  port ;  his  rich-coloured  brown 
hair  hung  in  full  curls  over  his  gay  and  vivid  uniform;  there 
was  a  great  quantity  of  gold  on  his  sword  belt  and  in  his  shoulder 
knots;  in  the  firelight  he  glittered  from  head  to  foot  with  a 
changing  light  of  gold ;  but  despite  his  youthful  strength  and 
the  magnificence  of  his  appointments  the  prevailing  impression 
of  his  person  was  that  of  a  gentle,  soft,  and  winning  sweetness 
that  sat  very  graciously  on  the  unconscious  demeanour  of  a 
noble  soldier. 

"  Were  you  not  a  page  to  us  ?  "  asked  the  King. 

"  Yes,  Your  Majesty.  I  was  with  those  who  had  the  honour 
to  come  to  England  with  Your  Majesty,"  answered  M.  van  Keppel. 
"Your  Majesty  showed  me  great  kindness  in  promoting  me." 

He  had  a  gentle  and  charming  address,  an  eager  air  of 
deference  wholly  pleasing. 

"  I  had  forgotten,"  said  the  King.  "  So  you  have  come  from 
Flanders?" 

He  gave  a  little  sigh. 

"  Oh,  sire ! "  cried  Joost  van  Keppel,  "  I  am  come  to  tell 
Your  Majesty  that  we  need  you ! " 

The  King  sat  up  and  looked  at  Portland  and  the  Englishmen. 

"Ah  !"  he  said,  in  an  angry,  broken  voice.  "What  device  is 
this  you  put  upon  me  ?  No  use,  my  lords,  no  use ;  this  back  will 
bear  no  more  burdens." 

"  Absolve  me,"  cried  Portland.     "  I  know  nothing  of  this " 

"  A  trick,"  continued  the  King — "  a  trick  to  spur  me.  What 
are  you,  Mynheer,  to  come  and  tell  me  of  my  duty  ?  " 

M.  van  Keppel  threw  himself  again  on  his  knees. 

"  The  King  is  needed,"  he  repeated,  with  great  passion.  "  I 
love  Your  Majesty  enough  to  dare  tell  you  so.  Sire,  the  Republic 
crieth  out  to  Your  Majesty  ! " 


272  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"  Who  told  you  to  speak  thus  ?  "  asked  William  bitterly. 

"  M.  Heinsius,"  answered  the  young  soldier  instantly. 

At  that  name  the  King  changed  countenance. 

"  M.  Heinsius,"  he  muttered ;  then  he  fixed  M.  van  Keppel 
with  a  keen  look  and  added — "Why  did  he  choose  you?" 

"  Because  Your  Majesty  used  to  have  some  kindness  for  me," 
was  the  reply,  given  with  a  frank  modesty ;  "  because  no  man 
living  could  revere  Your  Majesty  more  than  I  do." 

"I  am  not  used  to  be  so  courted,"  said  William  sternly. 
"  You  have  too  ready  a  tongue.  M.  Heinsius  may  find  another 
messenger." 

He  rose  and  would  have  turned  away,  but  the  young  man, 
still  on  his  knees,  caught  the  King's  stiff  silk  coat  skirts. 

"Will  the  Prince  of  Orange  ever  refuse  to  listen  to  the  appeal 
of  the  United  Provinces  ?  "  he  asked,  with  singular  sweetness  and 
force. 

William  looked  down  at  him,  hesitated,  then  said  faintly — 

"Rise,  Mynheer.  I  am  not  your  King.  As  for  the 
Republic" — he  sank  into  the  great  wand-bottomed  chair 
again  and  said  abruptly — "  how  think  they  the  campaign  will 
go?" 

M.  van  Keppel  got  to  his  feet  and  stood  his  full  splendid 
height. 

"  M.  de  Vaudemont  saith,  sire,  that  if  Your  Majesty  would 
come  to  lead  us  there  is  no  question  that  the  allies  might  do 
more  than  they  have  ever  done."  He  paused  a  moment,  then 
continued,  "  M.  de  Boufflers  is  guarding  the  banks  of  the  Sambre ; 
a  great  army  is  collected  from  the  Lys  to  the  Scheldt.  M.  de 
Villeroy,  they  say,  is  to  fix  his  headquarters  at  Tournay ;  but  the 
allies  are  ready  to  take  the  field — operations  could  begin  next 
month.  M.  de  Vaudemont  and  M.  Heinsius  have  written  so  to 
Your  Majesty." 

William  glanced  at  the  pile  of  unopened  correspondence ;  he 
flushed  and  looked  again  at  M.  van  Keppel. 

"Sire,"  said  the  young  soldier  proudly,  "there  is  Fleurus, 
Steinkirk,  and  Landen  to  avenge.  I  rode  past  Namur  a  week 
ago  and  saw  the  Bourbon  lilies  flying  above  the  keep." 

"  Namur  ! "  repeated  William,  and  his  eyes  widened. 

The  loss  of  Namur  had  been  the  worst  disaster  of  all  the 


THE  KING  IS  NEEDED  273 

disasters  of  the  war.     William  had  perhaps  never  known  such 
humiliation  as  when  the  great  fortress  fell  before  his  eyes. 

"  M.  de  Vauban,"  continued  Joost  van  Keppel,  "  hath  added 
to  the  fortifications  of  M.  Kohorn  and  declared  the  town  im- 
pregnable; they  have  fixed  a  vaunting  notice  over  the  gate 
defying  us  to  retake  it — but,  sire,  it  could  be  done." 

"  There  spoke  a  soldier  ! "  flashed  the  King.  "  That  spirit  in 
my  men  wrested  back  the  three  Provinces  in  '74." 

"That  spirit  is  alive  still,  sire — they  who  drove  back  the 
French  then  could  take  Namur  now." 

William  looked  at  Sunderland. 

"Would  your  English  be  pleased,"  he  asked,  "if  we  took 
Namur?" 

"  There  is  nothing  would  so  delight  the  people  as  a  great 
victory  in  the  Low  Countries,"  answered  that  nobleman. 

"  So  they  defy  us,"  said  the  King.  "  And  Namur  is  even  more 
important  than  it  was;  it  must  be  the  strongest  fortress  in 
Europe.  Certainly  it  is  a  prize  worth  while." 

M.  van  Keppel  spoke  again. 

"  M.  de  Maine  is  to  be  sent  with  M.  de  Villeroy." 

"So  they  send  M.  de  Maine  to  fight  us,  do  they?"  ex- 
claimed the  King.  "We  should  be  the  equal  of  M.  de 
Maine." 

He  looked  kindly  and  steadily  at  M.  van  Keppel. 

"  My  child,"  he  said,  "  you  are  a  good  patriot,  and  that  is  the 
best  thing  in  the  world  to  be.  We  must  give  you  a  regiment. 
We  hope  to  see  you  in  Flanders." 

He  smiled,  and  the  young  soldier,  who  had  been  taught  all 
his  life  to  regard  him  as  the  first  of  living  men,  bowed,  over- 
whelmed, with  tears  of  pleasure  in  his  eyes. 

William  gave  him  his  hand  and  Joost  van  Keppel  kissed 
it  reverently,  then,  at  a  delicate  sign  from  Sunderland,  retired, 
followed  by  the  Lord  Keeper. 

The  King  sat  very  quiet,  looking  into  the  fire.  Portland 
came  and  stood  behind  his  chair. 

"  Will  you  go  out  to  the  war  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  William  simply 

Sunderland  darted  a  sideway  look  at  Portland,  who  flushed. 

"  I  am  indeed  glad  of  that,"  he  said  sternly. 
18 


274  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"That  is  a  gallant  youngster,"  said  the  King.  "I  ever  liked 
him.  I  will  keep  him  about  me ;  he  is  a  pleasant  creature." 

"  He  is,"  replied  Portland ;  "  a  rakehelly  good-for-nought,  as 
every  one  knows." 

William  smiled  faintly ;  he  was  the  most  tolerant  of  men,  and 
had  no  interest  in  those  faults  that  did  not  cross  his  designs. 

"I  have  loved  rakes  before,"  he  said,  and  looked  at  my 
Lord  Romney. 

The  two  Englishmen  laughed  a  little,  but  Portland  answered, 
with  some  anger — 

"  He  is  a  young  prodigal  with  more  debts  than  wits ;  you 
should  not  have  given  him  your  hand." 

The  King  did  not  resent  his  friend's  brusque  address,  he 
answered  quietly,  in  his  weak  voice — 

"  It  would  give  me  pleasure  to  pay  some  of  those  debts." 

Sunderland  softly  put  in  a  remark. 

"M.  van  Keppel  is  the  most  obliging,  sweet-tempered 
gentleman  in  the  world,  and  one  most  devoted  to  Your  Majesty." 

"  And  a  great  friend  of  your  lordship,"  said  Portland,  with  a 
cold  haughtiness.  He  perceived,  as  he  thought,  a  design  on  the 
part  of  Sunderland  and  Somers,  with  perhaps  Marlborough 
behind  them,  to  put  up  a  rival  to  share  with  him  the  King's 
affections,  which  had  been  wholly  his  for  near  their  joint  lives, 
and  he  could  not  contain  his  scorn  and  resentment,  nor  was  he 
assuaged  by  the  obvious  unconsciousness  of  the  King. 

Romney  made  some  attempt  to  shift  the  subject ;  he  came 
forward  in  the  easy  gracious  way  habitual  to  him. 

"  Your  Majesty  will  be  soon  for  Flanders,  then  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  It  is  a  noble  resolution." 

William  rose. 

"  I  think  it  is  my  duty,"  he  answered.  He  took  up  the  plans  ot 
Greenwich  Palace  from  the  window-sill.  "  I  think  it  is  all  there 
is  for  me  to  do.  I  thank  you,  my  lords,"  he  added,  with  dignity, 
"for  having  so  long  borne  with  me." 

He  gave  a  little  bow  and  left  them  to  enter  the  inner  room. 

As  the  door  closed  on  him  Sunderland  smiled  at  the  other 
two. 

"Have  I  not  succeeded?"  he  demanded.  "He  is  roused, 
he  will  go  out  to  the  war,  I  even  think  that  he  will  take  Namur." 


THE  KING  IS  NEEDED  275 

"You  are  very  clever,  my  lord,"  admitted  Romney,  "and 
surely  you  have  done  the  King  a  great  service." 

Portland  broke  in  hotly — 

"  You  pulled  the  strings  of  your  puppet  very  skilfully ;  you 
know  how  to  deal  with  the  weaknesses  of  men,  but  those  who 
are  the  King  his  friends  do  not  love  to  see  him  practised  on  for 
party  purposes." 

"  I  stand  for  more  than  party  purposes,"  answered  Sunderland, 
with  sudden  haughtiness.  "  My  cause  is  the  King  his  cause — 
that  is  sufficient — and  for  the  rest,  my  deeds  are  not  answ.erable 
at  the  tribunal  of  your  virtues,  my  lord." 

Portland  came  a  step  nearer  to  him. 

"  You  scarce  believe  in  God — you  are  little  better  than  an 
atheist — yet  all  these  terms  are  glib  upon  your  tongue,  and  your 
tool,  a  shallow  popinjay,  can  prate  very  nicely  of  sacred  things. 
You  are  not  sincere — you  care  for  nothing — for  no  one." 

Romney  made  a  little  movement  as  if  he  would  have  stepped 
between  the  two  earls,  but  Sunderland  answered  unmoved — 

"I  have  my  policy  too  much  at  heart  to  jeopardize  it  by 
expounding  it  myself.  I  fear  that  my  principles  would  suffer 
by  my  lack  of  eloquence." 

"  Your  principles  ! "  cried  Portland.  "  Your  policy — what 
is  it?" 

"  Too  precious  a  thing  for  me  to  risk  on  a  turn  of  the  tongue, 
I  repeat,  my  lord.  I  speak  in  actions.  Watch  them  and  know 
my  answer." 


CHAPTER   III 
ATTAINMENT 

IT  was  the  commencement  of  the  campaign  of  1695;  as  >'et 
nothing  had  been  done  either  side.  The  men  at  Versailles 
who  managed  the  war  had  concentrated  their  forces  in  Flanders, 
and  there  the  allies  had  gathered  to  meet  them ;  the  Elector  of 
Bavaria  and  other  princes  of  the  Empire  were  encamped  with 
the  Germans  guarding  Brussels ;  the  Brandenburghers  and  Spanish 
lay  at  Huy ;  the  Dutch  and  British  under  the  command  of  the 
King  of  England,  at  Ghent. 

The  French  waited.  Villeroy  was  not  Luxembourg ;  he  had 
no  genius  for  command,  and  he  was  hampered  by  the  presence 
of  the  Due  de  Maine,  his  pupil  and  his  superior,  who  showed  no 
aptitude  for  war,  not  even  common  courage.  Boufflers  watched 
the  King  of  England,  the  meaning  of  whose  marches  he  could 
not  fathom ;  his  oblique  moves  might  cover  a  design  on  either 
Ypres  or  Dunkirk;  for  a  month  they  continued,  and  neither 
Villeroy  nor  Boufflers  suspected  an  attempt  on  Namur. 

But  on  June  28th,  the  King,  the  Elector,  and  the  Branden- 
burghers advanced  with  a  swift  concerted  movement  straight  on 
Namur  with  such  suddenness  and  rapidity  that  M.  de  Boufflers 
had  scarcely  time  to  throw  himself  into  the  fortress  before  the 
three  divisions  of  the  allied  army  closed  round  the  walls  of 
the  town. 

The  Prince  de  Vaudemont  had  been  left  in  Flanders  to 
watch  Villeroy.  That  general  believed  he  could  wipe  out  this 
force  and  then  drive  the  allies  from  Namur — he  said  as  much 
in  his  dispatches  to  Versailles ;  but  M.  de  Vaudemont  effected 
a  masterly  retreat  into  Ghent,  and  the  easiness  of  the  French 
Court  was  disturbed,  especially  as  it  was  whispered  that  an  action 

had  been  avoided  owing  to  the  poltroonery  of  M.  de  Maine. 

276 


ATTAINMENT  277 

M.  de  Kohorn,  the  principal  engineer  of  the  allies,  had  set 
his  heart  on  the  capture  of  the  fortress  that  he  had  seen  taken 
by  his  great  master  and  rival,  M.  de  Vauban.  The  Frenchman 
had  since  added  considerably  to  the  fortifications,  and  rendered 
Namur  the  strongest  fortress  in  the  world,  and  M.  de  Kohorn 
was  spurred  by  professional  pride  into  a  desperate  attempt  to 
make  good  his  failure  of  three  years  ago. 

A  week  after  the  trenches  were  opened  the  English  foot 
guards  gained  the  outworks  on  the  Brussels  side ;  on  the  seven- 
teenth the  first  counterscarp  of  the  town  was  captured ;  on  the 
twentieth  the  Germans  gained  Vauban's  line  of  fortifications  cut 
in  the  rock  from  the  Sambre  to  the  Meuse  and  the  great  sluice 
or  waterworks  ;  on  the  twenty-third  the  Dutch  and  English  made 
conquest  of  the  second  counterscarp,  and  the  town  capitulated, 
Boufflers  and  the  garrison  retiring  into  the  citadel,  leaving 
behind  them  about  fifteen  hundred  wounded  men  to  be  cared 
for  by  the  allies. 

On  the  6th  of  August  the  allies,  led  by  the  King  of  England, 
marched  into  Namur  by  the  St.  Nicolas  Gate,  and  prepared  for 
the  last  and  terrible  assault  on  the  garrison. 

Villeroy,  who  had  meantime  taken  the  petty  towns  of 
Dixmuyde  and  Deynse,  endeavoured  to  induce  the  King  to 
raise  the  siege  of  Namur  by  menacing  Brussels,  which  he  shelled 
and  greatly  damaged;  but  in  vain,  for  William  was  not  to  be 
lured  into  relinquishing  his  prey,  and  Villeroy,  after  two  days, 
marched  on  to  Enghien,  and,  having  collected  the  greater  number 
of  the  French  troops  in  the  Netherlands,  amounting  in  all  to 
over  eighty  thousand  men,  advanced  to  the  relief  of  Namur. 

But  the  Prince  de  Vaudemont  having  now  joined  the  allied 
forces  it  was  considered  that  they  were  strong  enough  to  face 
Villeroy,  and  at  the  same  time  continue  the  siege  of  the  castle 
and  hold  the  town. 

On  the  fifteenth  the  French  host  fired  a  salute  of  ninety  guns 
as  a  haughty  promise  of  relief  to  Boufflers ;  from  then  to  the 
nineteenth  the  two  mighty  armies  faced  each  other,  neither 
making  any  movement.  Europe  held  its  breath,  Paris  and 
London,  The  Hague  and  Vienna,  Brussels,  still  half  prostrate 
from  French  fires,  Rome  and  Madrid  waited  in  almost  unbear- 
able suspense  for  the  result  of  the  promised  and,  it  seemed, 


278  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

inevitable  combat  between  the  two  finest  and  largest  armies 
that  had  ever  met  on  European  soil. 

Boufflers  burnt  fire  signals  every  night  on  his  watch-towers, 
which  urged  haste  to  Villeroy,  who  still  lay  beyond  the  mighty 
ring  of  the  confederate  army  who  incessantly  stormed  the  citadel. 

On  the  nineteenth  the  King  rose  at  dawn,  got  his  forces 
under  arms,  and  rode  from  post  to  post  surveying  his  troops 
and  watching  the  enemy;  he  was  in  the  saddle  from  four  in 
the  morning  till  nightfall,  and  tired  out  three  horses.  When  he 
returned  to  his  tent  that  had  been  pitched  in  the  encampment 
on  the  west  of  the  town  near  the  Abbey  of  Salsines,  there  was 
no  portion  of  his  vast  army  that  he  had  not  personally  inspected. 

He  dined  alone;  the  Elector  of  Bavaria  and  the  other 
German  princes  being  in  immediate  command  of  the  troops 
that  were  actually  storming  Namur. 

He  expected  that  Villeroy  would  attack  him  as  soon  as  it  was 
light,  and  his  preparations  were  complete. 

He  had  an  interview  with  M.  Dyckfelt,  who  was  with  the 
army  as  representative  of  the  States  General,  and  was  then  alone, 
it  being  about  ten  of  the  clock  and  a  hot  summer  night. 

All  the  light  in  the  tent  came  from  a  silver  lamp  suspended 
from  the  cross-poles,  which  gave  an  uncertain  and  wavering 
illumination.  The  King  sat  in  the  shadows ;  on  the  little  table 
beside  him  was  his  sword,  his  pistols,  and  a  map  of  Namur. 

He  was  thinking  of  twenty-three  years  ago  when,  in  his  early 
youth,  he  had  first  led  an  army  against  France ;  his  entire  force 
then  had  numbered  little  more  than  the  servants,  footmen,  and 
attendants  in  his  retinue  now.  All  Europe  had  been  against  him, 
half  his  country  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  the  home  government 
in  the  control  of  the  opposing  factions.  The  man  of  forty-four 
looked  back  at  the  achievements  of  the  youth  of  twenty-one  with 
an  extraordinary  sense — almost  of  wonder. 

He  recalled  with  painful  vividness  how  Buckingham  and 
Arlington  had  come  to  offer  him  the  shameful  terms  of  France 
and  England,  their  scorn  at  his  rejection  of  the  bitter  bargain, 
and  how  even  William  Bentinck,  gay  and  thoughtless  then,  had 
despaired.  Hopeless,  indeed,  it  had  seemed ;  there  had  not  been 
one  to  believe  in  him ;  but  he  had  never  doubted  his  own  destiny. 

And  now  he   was  justified  in  what  he  had  undertaken,  at 


ATTAINMENT  279 

least  that,  whatever  sorrows,  humiliations,  and  disappointments 
had  darkened  his  way  the  outward  semblance  was  of  great  and 
steady  success. 

The  Prince,  who  had  been  little  better  than  a  State  prisoner 
and  a  pawn  in  the  politics  of  Europe,  heir  to  a  ruined  family  and 
leader  of  a  despairing  nation,  was  now  a  King,  directing  half 
Europe,  with  one  of  the  mightiest  armies  the  world  had  seen 
behind  him.  Of  the  monarchs  who  had  offered  to  silence  his 
despised  defiance  with  dishonourable  terms  one  was  now  dead, 
and  he  held  his  kingdoms ;  and  the  other,  who  then  had  threatened 
to  overrun  the  world,  was  now  with  difficulty  holding  his  own 
against  a  coalition  that  included  all  the  principal  countries  of 
Europe. 

Not  without  concession,  infinite  patience,  endless  trouble,  and 
long  waiting  had  William  got  these  allies  together.  For  the  support 
and  the  millions  of  England  he  was  paying  a  price  none  but 
himself  could  gauge  the  bitterness  of.  To  Scandinavia  he  had  had 
to  sacrifice  some  of  his  cherished  maritime  privileges ;  Spain,  the 
most  provoking  of  the  confederates,  had  been  kept  by  much 
expenditure  of  art  and  money ;  the  German  princes  had  been  held 
together  by  a  title,  a  garter,  a  subsidy,  an  honour,  a  promise  of  a 
prospective  dignity.  Now,  before  the  walls  of  Namur,  the  man 
whose  genius  and  indomitable  courage  had,  during  twenty  years, 
toiled  towards  this  end,  might  feel  that  he  was  beginning  to  taste 
his  reward. 

He  was  facing  France,  equal  to  equal ;  he  was  feared  and 
respected  throughout  the  world.  The  Protestant  faith,  threatened 
with  extinction  by  Louis,  he  had  placed  on  a  basis  from  which, 
as  long  as  any  faith  lasted,  it  could  never  be  displaced.  His 
country  was  free,  and  prosperous,  and  foremost  among  nations 
again ;  the  power  of  France  was  already  too  crippled  for  there  to 
be  longer  any  fear  of  her  upsetting  the  balance  of  power. 

The  English  fleet,  useless  since  Elizabeth,  again  was  mis- 
tress of  the  seas.  Russell  passed  unmolested  between  Spain  and 
Italy,  defied  the  remnant  of  the  French  fleet  imprisoned  in 
Toulon  port,  and  dared  the  whole  of  the  Mediterranean  seaboard. 
Berkeley  passed  unmolested  along  the  French  coast,  burnt 
Granville,  shelled  Calais  and  Dunkirk,  and  kept  the  English  flag 
high  and  undisputed  above  the  Channel, 


280  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

The  man  who  had  been  the  boy  who  had  once  passionately 
resolved  to  do  these  things  found  the  realization  of  them  different 
indeed  from  those  bright  imaginings.  Attainment  of  fame,  honour, 
power,  success,  could  not  give  more  than  a  faint  remembrance  of 
the  throb  of  exultation  the  youthful  Prince  had  felt  when  he, 
penniless,  unsupported,  hampered  in  every  possible  way,  had  first 
flung  his  challenge  to  overwhelming  odds.  Then  there  had  been 
everything  to  do ;  but  ardent  courage  and  unspoilt  faith  had 
gilded  difficulties,  and  the  heroic  pride  of  youth  had  smiled  at 
obstacles ;  now  the  loss  of  a  love  the  boy  had  never  dreamt  of 
had  made  all  things  else  appear  small  to  the  man. 

Twenty  years  of  toil,  of  acquaintance  with  treachery,  deceit, 
smallness,  weakness,  twenty  years  of  misunderstood  endeavour, 
of  constant  strain,  of  constant  fatigue  had  done  their  work.  The 
fine  spirit  did  not  shrink  from  its  task,  but  never  again  could  it 
recapture  the  early  glow  of  hope,  the  early  ecstasy  of  labour,  the 
early  pride  of  achievement. 

What  was  his  achievement,  after  all.  He  might  well  think 
that  the  God  he  had  served  so  patiently  had  mocked  him.  He 
had  loved  but  to  lose  his  love ;  he  had  bartered  his  personal  ease, 
almost  his  liberty,  almost  his  pride  for  bitter  honours  held  in 
exile  ;  his  health  was  utterly  worn  out,  his  days  were  a  continual 
weariness  and  pain ;  he  was  again  as  lonely  as  he  had  been  when 
he  was  the  prisoner  of  the  States ;  he  had  no  heir,  and  the  main 
branch  of  his  family  died  with  him  ;  if  he  could  not  finish  him- 
self his  task  he  must  entrust  it  to  strangers  to  complete.  Surely 
all  was  utter  vanity  and  vexation.  The  cold  consolations  of  a 
sombre  faith  only  supported  him.  He  clung  to  those  beliefs  in 
which  Mary  had  died,  and  faced  the  few  years  that  at  best 
remained  to  him  with  the  same  high  courage  with  which  she 
had  met  her  fate. 

He  rose  presently,  in  the  perfect  stillness,  and  went  to  the 
entrance  of  his  tent,  lifted  the  flap,  and  looked  out. 

The  French  red  flares  on  the  towers  of  Namur  were  visible 
across  the  great  plain  of  the  Sambre  and  Meuse ;  the  starlight 
showed  the  huge  encampment  stretching  out  of  sight  under  the 
clear  sky;  near  by  a  sentry  paced  with  his  musket  over  his 
shoulder ;  it  was  very  hot  and  not  a  blade  of  grass  stirred  in  the 
absolute  arrested  stillness,. 


ATTAINMENT  281 

Presently  a  surgeon  passed  through  the  tents  carrying  a 
lantern  and  followed  by  a  servant  leading  a  mule  laden  with  his 
chest.  The  light  flickered  awhile  amid  the  canvas  then  dis- 
appeared ;  a  dog  barked  and  a  man  whistled  to  it ;  the  silence 
fell  again  as  intense  as  before. 

The  King  went  back  and  flung  himself  on  his  couch ;  he 
could  not  come  near  sleep,  but  lay  watching  the  long,  pale  beams 
of  light  the  lamp  cast  over  the  worn  grass  that  formed  the  floor 
of  the  hastily  constructed  tent. 

His  mind  kept  dwelling  on  his  first  campaign,  his  miserable 
army,  his  own  ignorance  of  all  but  book  tactics,  his  lack  of 
money,  of  authority — yet  that  had  been  the  first  spark  of  that 
fire  that  now  lit  Europe.  He  had  formed  and  trained  his  own 
armies — Dutch,  Brandenburghers,  Swedes,  Germans,  and  lately  the 
English — until  they  were  equal  to  those  consummate  French 
troops  who  had  laughed  at  him  in  '72  ;  but  they  fought  with  no 
more  devotion  and  courage  than  the  handful  of  Hollanders  who 
had  rallied  round  him  then,  now  incorporated  into  the  famous 
Dutch  Guards,  the  most  beloved  of  all  his  beloved  army. 

He  thought  of  these  Guards  marching  against  Villeroy  now, 
feared  and  honoured,  and  his  heart  fluttered  faintly  with  a  fleet- 
ing pleasure  that  they  should  ever  face  the  French  on  these  terms. 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  instantly  there  spread  before  him  a 
vision  of  the  great  banqueting  hall  at  Whitehall  hung  with  black, 
and  the  banners  and  armours  of  his  family,  while  in  the  centre 
was  a  mighty  catafalque  of  black  velvet  which  bore  an  open 
coffin,  at  the  foot  of  which  lay  a  royal  crown  and  sceptre.  She 
who  rested  there  was  covered  to  the  chin  in  gold  stuff,  and  round 
her  head  was  twisted  her  dark,  curling,  auburn  hair. 

The  King  sprang  up  and  walked  up  and  down  the  uneven 
ground ;  he  drew  from  under  his  shirt  and  cravat  a  long,  black 
ribbon,  to  which  was  attached  a  gold  wedding-ring  and  a  long 
lock  of  that  same  rich  hair  that  he  had  seen  in  his  vision. 

He  paused  under  the  lamp  and  gazed  at  it ;  in  that  moment 
he  prayed,  with  as  much  passion  as  any  poor  wretch  ever  prayed 
for  hope  of  life,  that  he  might  find  his  death  in  to-morrow's  battle. 
He  was  still  standing  so,  forgetful  of  time  and  place,  when  he 
heard  voices  without,  and  hastily  put  the  ribbon  back  over  his 
heart. 


282  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

The  flap  was  raised  and  the  figure  of  a  young  officer  showed 
against  the  paling  sky. 

"  Is  it  M.  van  Keppel  ?  "  asked  the  King  quietly. 

"  Yes,  sire."  The  speaker  .entered.  He  had  been  sent  with 
the  King's  commands  to  the  Elector  of  Bavaria. 

"  M.  de  Bavaria  understands  everything  ?  "  inquired  William. 

"  He  is  quite  ready,  sire." 

"So  are  we,"  said  the  King.  "  I  should  think  M.  de  Villeroy 
would  make  the  attack  in  an  hour  or  so — the  dawn  is  breaking, 
is  it  not  ?  " 

"The  sun  was  just  rising,  sire,  above  the  river,  as  I  rode 
from  the  camp  of  His  Highness." 

"  Yet  the  light  is  very  faint  here.  Will  you,  Mynheer,  light 
the  other  lamp?"  The  King  spoke  gently,  but  he  had  quite 
regained  that  command  of  himself  which  rendered  his  demeanour 
so  stately  and  impressive. 

M.  van  Keppel  obeyed  and  was  then  retiring,  but  William, 
who  was  seated  by  the  table,  asked  him  to  stay. 

"  I  may  have  another  message  for  you,"  he  added. 

The  officer  bowed. 

William  rang  the  little  hand -bell  near  him  and  a  valet 
instantly  appeared  from  the  curtained  inner  portion  of  the  tent. 
The  King  lived  very  simply  when  at  the  camp.  He  now  asked  for 
wine,  and  when  it  was  brought  made  M.  van  Keppel  drink  with  him, 
which  honour  caused  the  young  soldier  to  redden  with  pleasure. 

"  I  hear,"  said  William,  "  that  the  garrisons  of  Dixmuyde  and 
Deynse  have  been  sent  prisoners  to  France.  That  breaketh  the 
treaty  we  made  for  the  exchange  of  captives — treachery  and 
insolence,  it  seemeth,  are  the  only  methods  of  France." 

"  Treachery  and  insolence  will  not  for  ever  prevail,"  answered 
Joost  van  Keppel,  in  his  sweet,  ardent  voice.  "The  fortunes  of 
Your  Majesty  begin  to  overleap  the  arrogance  of  France." 

"There  will  be  a  great  battle  to-day,"  remarked  the  King 
quietly  and  irrelevantly. 

The  powerful  summer  dawn,  strengthening  with  every  moment, 
penetrated  the  tent  and  mingled  with  the  beams  of  the  two  lamps. 
The  King  sat  in  the  crossed  lights ;  his  gentleman  knelt  before 
him,  fastening  the  great  gilt  spurs  to  his  close  riding-boots.  He 
looked  at  Joost  van  Keppel  gravely  and  kindly ;  his  face,  pale  in 


ATTAINMENT  283 

its  proper  complexion,  was  tanned  darkly  by  the  Lowland  sun ; 
his  eyes  were  extraordinarily  bright  and  flashing,  but  languid 
lidded  and  heavily  shadowed  beneath ;  his  large,  mobile  mouth 
was  set  firmly ;  his  long,  thick  curls  hung  over  his  black  coat, 
across  which  showed  the  blue  ribbon  and  star  that  he  had  not 
removed  since  he  had  reviewed  his  forces  yesterday. 

"  Mynheer,"  he  said  to  M.  van  Keppel.  "  Lift  the  flap  and 
look  out " 

The  young  Dutchman  obeyed  and  a  full  sunbeam  struck 
across  the  dim  artificial  light. 

"  A  fine  day,"  remarked  William ;  he  was  ever  fond  of  sun 
and  warmth. 

As  M.  van  Keppel  stood  so,  holding  back  the  canvas  and 
gazing  over  the  tents  that  spread  across  the  plain  of  the  Meuse, 
a  gentleman,  armed  on  back  and  breast  with  a  gold  inlaid  cuirass, 
wrapped  in  a  black  silk  mantle  and  carrying  a  hat  covered  with 
white  plumes,  rode  up,  dismounted,  and  entered  the  King's  tent 
without  a  word  of  ceremony. 

M.  van  Keppel  bowed  very  respectfully ;  it  was  the  Earl  of 
Portland. 

On  seeing  the  King  alone  with  the  young  officer  his  face 
darkened ;  he  answered  the  King's  greeting  of  unconscious 
affection  with  stern  brusqueness. 

"  There  are  letters  from  England — I  met  the  messenger,"  he 
said,  and  laid  the  packet  on  the  table  by  the  wine-glasses. 

Joost  van  Keppel  was  quick  to  see  the  instant  shock  that 
William  quivered  under,  and  to  perceive  the  cause  of  it.  When 
last  the  King  had  been  at  the  war  not  a  post  had  arrived  from 
London  without  a  letter  from  the  Queen.  The  young  man  thought 
Portland  had  acted  with  some  harshness ;  he  came  forward  and 
said  impulsively — 

"  Letters  from  England,  my  lord,  are  not  of  such  importance 
that  they  cannot  wait  till  after  the  battle." 

This  was  to  Portland  incredible  impertinence ;  he  stared  at 
the  flushed,  generous  face  with  bitterly  angry  eyes ;  but  William 
seemed  relieved. 

"  Yes,  let  the  news  wait,"  he  said,  and  rose. 

"  If  this  was  known  in  London,  what  would  they  say  ?  "  broke 
out  Portland. 


284  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"  How  can  it  be  known  in  London  when  I  have  none  here 
but  friends  ? "  answered  the  King. 

"  I  thank  Your  Majesty  for  including  me  with  M.  van  Keppel 
as  your  friend,"  flashed  Portland. 

The  King  looked  at  him  sharply,  then  from  one  man  to 
another. 

"  Mynheer  van  Keppel,"  he  said,  "  you  will  return  to  M.  de 
Bavaria  and  tell  him  to  be  in  readiness  for  a  message  from 
us." 

The  officer  bowed  with  great  deference  and  sweetness  to  his 
master  and  the  Earl,  and  instantly  retired. 

"  Will  you  not  read  those  letters  ?  "  asked  Portland,  in  no  way 
appeased. 

William  gave  him  a  glance  between  reproach  and  wonder, 
broke  the  seals,  and  looked  over  the  letters. 

"  Nothing,"  he  said,  when  he  laid  them  down,  "  save  that  some 
sugar  ships  from  Barbadoes  have  been  taken  by  the  French,  that 
there  is  great  uneasiness  on  the  Stock  Exchange." 

"Nothing  of  M.  de  Leeds?"  asked  Portland. 

"  No,"  said  the  King ;  he  was  standing  up  and  his  gentleman 
buckled  him  into  his  light  cuirass;  "but  I  will  not  have  him 
touched — he  is  punished  enough."  He  added,  with  some  con- 
tempt, "  Is  Leeds  so  much  worse  than  the  herd  that  he  should 
be  hunted  from  it?" 

"  A  corrupt  man,"  answered  Portland  gloomily ;  "  but  you 
were  always  tender  with  him." 

William  was  silent.  His  obligation  to  Leeds  consisted  entirely 
of  that  nobleman's  devotion  to  the  Queen;  he  thought  that 
Portland  knew  this  and  despised  him  for  such  sentiment  in 
politics.  Neither  spoke  any  more  on  the  subject. 

"  M.  Montague  is  a  clever  man,"  remarked  the  King,  after  a 
little ;  "  another  pensioner  of  my  Lord  Dorset.  How  goeth  the 
other,  your  secretary  ?  " 

"Ah,  Prior,"  replied  the  Earl,  "well  enough,  but  I  think 
him  an  atheist.  His  poetry  is  full  of  heathen  gods,  and  when  I 
probed  him  on  the  subject  he  was  not  satisfactory  in  his  answers, 
but  well  enough." 

"  Put  my  Lord  Sarum  on  to  converting  him,"  said  William 
drily ;  "  but  I  should  not  take  much  account  of  his  poetry." 


ATTAINMENT  285 

The  King's  gentleman  went  into  the  back  part  of  the  tent 
and  Portland  instantly  addressed  his  master  with  great  heat. 

"  Sir,  I  must  tell  you  that  it  is  a  source  of  great  wonder  to 
all  that  you  should  so  encourage,  favour,  and  caress  a  worthless 
young  rake  like  M.  van  Keppel — a  mere  hanger-on  to  court 
favour;  your  dignity  suffers  by  it " 

The  King  interrupted. 

"  Are  you  jealous — you — of  him  ?  "  he  asked  mournfully. 

"  I  have  enough  to  make  me  jealous,"  was  the  hot  answer, 
"  when  I  see  the  creature  of  such  as  my  Lord  Sunderland  creep 
into  your  affections." 

The  King  answered  in  gentle,  dignified  tones,  without  a 
touch  of  anger  or  resentment — 

"  You  are  indeed  wrong.  I  like  M.  van  Keppel  for  himself 
— I  find  him  sweet  and  intelligent,  a  willing  servant — and  I 
have  not  too  many.  But  you  know,  even  while  you  speak,  that 
nothing  could  come  between  me  and  you." 

"  I  think  he  hath  come  between  us,"  said  Portland  sternly ; 
"during  the  whole  campaign  he  hath  hardly  left  your  side. 
I  believe  you  even  consult  him  as  to  your  actions — he ! — why, 
the  whole  camp  knoweth  his  reputation.  I  could  tell  some 
tales " 

The  King  broke  in. 

"  I'll  hear  no  scandals.  You  know  that  of  me.  If  we  are 
to  listen  to  tale-bearing  there  is  not  one  of  us  safe.  If  I  favoured 
any  man  do  you  not  think  there  would  be  tales  against  him? 
But  I  did  not  think  to  find  you  leaning  on  gossip." 

He  still  spoke  with  an  utter  calm ;  but  Portland  took  his 
words  heavily. 

"  If  you  choose  to  reprimand  me "  he  began. 

"Forgive  me,"  said  the  King  instantly.  "I  thought  you 
would  understand.  Indeed,  forgive  me.  I  would  do  anything 
in  the  world  not  to  vex  you." 

The  return  of  the  gentleman  with  William's  gloves  and  cloak 
cut  short  the  conversation.  The  King  fastened  his  sword-belt 
over  his  shoulder  and  adjusted  the  weapon ;  as  he  took  up 
his  hat  with  the  long  black  feathers  a  magnificent  Branden- 
burgher  officer  entered,  followed  by  M.  Dyckfelt 

"Your  Majesty,"  said  the  Dutchman  quietly,  "  M.  de  Villeroy 


286  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

hath  retreated  in  the  night — leaving  M.  de  Boufflers  to  his 
fate." 

The  Brandenburgher  went  on  one  knee  and  handed  William 
a  dispatch  from  the  commander  of  the  scouts,  who  had  seen 
the  last  vanishing  rearguard  of  the  French. 

The  King  showed  no  emotion  of  any  kind. 

"Count,"  he  said  to  the  officer,  "you  will  go  to  M.  de 
Bavaria  and  request  him  to  make  an  immediate  assault  on 
Namur." 

When  the  officer  had  withdrawn,  with  profound  obeisance, 
William  turned  to  Portland. 

"I  will  ask  you  to  go  to  M.  de  Boufflers  and  demand  a 
surrender.  Tell  him  that  there  is  no  further  hope  for  him 
from  M.  de  Villeroy,  and  that  if  he  wisheth  to  spare  his  garrison 
he  must  capitulate  to-day." 

Portland  bowed  gravely  and  turned  away.  William  looked 
after  him  keenly,  then  took  up  his  perspective  glass,  his  gloves, 
and  his  baton,  and  left  the  tent 


CHAPTER   IV 
A  MAN'S  STRENGTH 

MDE  BOUFFLERS  refused  to  surrender;  he  was  a 
.  Marechal  de  France,  he  had  still  many  thousand 
men,  including  M.  Megrigny,  the  engineer  esteemed  second 
only  to  M.  de  Vauban,  and  the  castle  was  deemed  impregnable. 

The  assault  was  fixed  for  one  in  the  afternoon.  The  King 
of  England,  the  Elector  of  Bavaria,  the  Landgrave  of  Hesse, 
other  German  potentates  and  the  officers  of  their  staff  gathered 
on  the  rocky  promontory  immediately  below  the  ramparts  of 
the  citadel;  before  them  rose  the  castle  ringed  with  walls, 
batteries,  palisades,  fosses,  dykes,  and  traverses,  and  set  back 
two  miles  or  more  in  elaborate  ramparts  and  outworks. 

The  allies  had  formed  a  complete  circumvallation  round 
the  huge  fortress,  and  had  opened  their  trenches  at  the  very 
foot  of  the  rock  which  M.  de  Vauban  had  fortified  with  such 
deadly  skill. 

The  day  was  extraordinarily  hot  and  cloudless;  the  sun, 
being  now  just  overhead,  blazed  with  equal  light  on  the 
ruined  town,  the  lofty  castle,  on  counterscarp,  glacis,  and  half- 
moon,  on  the  trenches,  the  defences  of  wattled  sticks  lined 
with  sandbags,  on  the  distant  spreading  encampment  of  the 
allies,  on  the  still  more  distant  sparkle  of  the  Meuse,  which 
glittered  across  the  great  plain  and  on  the  walls  of  the  Abbey 
of  Salsines. 

It  shone,  too,  on  a  thousand  flags,  a  thousand  squads  of  men 
moving  with  bayonets  and  matchlocks  set  to  the  attack,  and 
gleamed  in  the  armour  of  the  little  group  of  gentlemen  who 
were  directing  the  operations,  and  sometimes  sent  a  long  ray 
of  burning  light  from  their  perspective  glasses  as  they  turned 
them  on  the  castle  or  the  approaching  regiments  of  their  own 

troop  as  they  defiled  through  the  town. 

287 


288  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

It  had  been  arranged  that  the  assault  was  to  be  made  in 
four  places  at  once,  by  the  Dutch,  Brandenburghers,  Bavarians, 
and  English  severally;  the  first  three  were  tried  and  veteran 
troops,  the  fourth,  however,  consisted  of  recruits  who  were 
seeing  their  first  campaign  and  had  never  been  under  fire 
before;  the  best  English  troops  had  marched  to  encounter 
Villeroy,  and  had  not  been  summoned  to  the  attack. 

The  King  turned  his  glasses  on  the  trenches  where  these 
regiments  waited;  they  were  under  the  command  of  John 
Cutts,  as  brave  and  gallant  an  officer  as  ever  breathed. 

William  put  down  his  glasses  and  looked  up  at  the  grim 
citadel. 

"  This  is  a  severe  test  for  them,"  he  remarked. 

The  Electoral  Prince  was  taking  a  bet  from  the  exultant 
Kohorn  that  they  would  enter  Namur  by  the  3131  of  August. 
William  laughed. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  Your  Highness  should  put  money  on  our 
failure,"  he  said.  "  I  hear  that  the  betting  in  London  is  greatly 
in  our  favour." 

"  This  is  a  matter  of  dates,  Your  Majesty,"  answered  M.  de 
Bavaria.  "  I  say  '  No '  only  to  August  the  3ist." 

"I  am  glad  M.  de  Kohorn  is  so  confident,"  said  William 
graciously  to  the  great  engineer. 

M.  de  Hesse,  who  wore  on  his  finger  a  watch  in  a  great  ring 
of  brilliants,  remarked  that  the  time  was  near  ten  minutes  to 
one ;  M.  de  Bavaria  bowed  profoundly  and  galloped  off  to  direct 
his  own  men  in  person ;  the  King  looked  keenly  round  to  see 
that  none  of  his  servants  were  lurking  in  the  line  of  fire. 
Interference  was  almost  as  unendurable  to  him  as  cowardice; 
more  than  once  during  the  siege  he  had  been  exasperated  into 
horsewhipping  some  daring  footmen  or  valet  out  of  the  trenches. 
During  the  assault  of  July  the  zyth  he  had  been  con- 
siderably vexed  to  see  M.  Godfrey,  one  of  the  directors 
of  the  new  Bank  of  England,  among  his  officers,  and  had 
severely  reprimanded  him  for  his  presence  in  so  dangerous 
a  position. 

"  But  I  run  no  more  risk  than  you,  sire,"  M.  Godfrey  had 
protested. 

The  King's  answer  and  the  sequel  were  long  remembered. 


A  MAN'S  STRENGTH  289 

"I,  sir,"  he  replied,  "may  safely  trust  to  God,  since  I  am 
doing  my  duty  in  being  here,  while  you " 

The  sentence  remained  unfinished,  for  a  French  cannon  shot 
laid  M.  Godfrey  dead  at  the  King's  side.  William  had  hoped 
that  this  would  prove  a  lesson  to  useless  meddlers,  but  even 
since  he  had  been  provoked  by  various  people  who  had 
business  at  the  camp,  and  who  strayed  into  the  trenches  to 
get  a  view  of  real  fighting,  often  with  no  conception  of  the 
danger  of  the  slow  dropping  bombs  and  bullets. 

But  this  afternoon  the  King's  eagle  eyes  were  satisfied  that 
the  works  were  clear  of  sightseers ;  it  had  been  fairly  well  spread 
abroad  that  this  assault  would  be,  beyond  experience,  terrible,  and 
those  whose  duty  did  not  take  them  to  the  front  were  well  in  the 
rear. 

M.  de  Hesse  and  the  other  Germans  having  galloped  off  to 
their  posts,  the  King  remained  alone  with  his  staff,  midway  between 
the  ramparts  that  were  to  be  attacked  and  the  English  trenches, 
full  in  the  cross-line  of  fire,  and  motionless  and  conspicuous  as  a 
target  on  the  little  jutting  shelf  of  rock  ;  his  officers  were  a  little 
way  behind,  and  his  figure  was  completely  outlined  against  the 
blue  gap  of  sun-filled  air  behind  the  rock  slope. 

He  rode  a  huge  grey  Flemish  horse,  dark  as  basalt  and  as 
smooth — very  lightly  trapped  with  red  leather  linked  with  silver 
gilt — that  he  managed  as  well  as  a  man  can.  He  had  always 
been  renowned  for  his  consummate  horsemanship,  and  this  great 
beast,  that  had  taken  two  footmen  to  hold  in  before  he  mounted, 
he  held  delicately  with  one  hand  on  the  reins  with  such  a  perfect 
control,  that  the  creature  was  utterly  motionless  on  the  narrow 
ledge  of  slippery  rock. 

The  hot  air  was  full  of  different  distant  and  subdued  sounds — 
the  rattle  of  the  guns,  the  clink  of  the  matchlocks  striking  the 
cobbles  of  the  town  below,  the  tramp  of  feet,  the  neighing  of 
horses,  and,  occasionally,  the  crowing  of  a  cock  on  some  farm 
outside  Namur. 

The  King  sat  with  his  reins  loose,  holding  in  his  right 
hand  his  baton  that  he  rested  against  his  hip.  He  was  intently 
watching  the  English  trenches. 

The  clocks  of  the  churches  in  Namur  struck  one ;  instantly 
a  loud  report  and  a  jet  of  flame  came  from  the  trenches  below ; 


290  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

two  barrels  of  gunpowder  had  been  blown  up  as  a  sigqal  for  the 
attack. 

Before  the  smoke  had  cleared,  all  the  minor  sounds  were 
silenced  by  the  steady  beat  of  drums  and  kettledrums,  and  the 
King  perceived  the  Grenadiers  marching  from  behind  their  de- 
fences and  earthworks  steadily  towards  the  ramparts  of  Namur — 
these  were  the  men  of  Cult's  own  regiment.  They  were  immedi- 
ately followed  by  the  four  new  battalions.  They  came  on  steadily, 
in  good  order,  with  their  bright,  unspoilt  colours  in  their  midst, 
their  colonels  riding  before  them.  The  King  could  discern 
the  slender  figure  of  John  Cutts  marching  on  foot  before  the 
Grenadiers  with  his  drawn  sword  in  his  hand. 

There  was  no  sign  from  the  castle.  The  English  leapt,  man 
after  man,  the  last  deep  trench  of  their  own  earthworks,  and 
suddenly,  at  a  word  from  their  leader,  whose  voice  came  faintly 
to  the  King's  ears,  broke  into  a  run  and  dashed  up  the  slope  at 
the  foot  of  the  rock,  and  full  at  the  first  wall  of  the  French 
fortifications. 

Instantly  the  batteries  of  the  garrison  opened  a  terrible  fire, 
and  a  confused  echo  to  their  thunder  told  that  the  other  three 
divisions  of  the  confederates  were  meeting  a  like  reception. 

The  English  kept  on ;  the  little  body  of  the  Grenadiers,  with 
the  four  battalions  supporting  them  and  at  the  head  of  all  John 
Cutts,  climbed  the  face  of  the  rock  with  no  sign  of  disorder. 

The  King  wheeled  his  horse  round  to  face  them,  and  his 
brilliant  eyes  never  left  their  ranks. 

The  French  commenced  fire  from  the  guns  behind  their  first 
palisade,  which  swept  the  ranks  of  the  advancing  English  with 
deadly  effect 

Almost  every  officer  of  the  Grenadiers  fell  on  the  hot,  bare 
rock.  The  drums  began  to  give  a  disconnected  sound,  the 
colours  wavered,  but  the  men  pressed  on,  with  Cutts  still  running 
before  them  and  the  recruits  doggedly  behind  them. 

The  King  sent  one  of  his  officers  with  orders  for  the  English 
batteries  to  open  fire  as  soon  as  the  breach  had  been  made. 

There  was,  in  the  space  of  a  few  seconds,  hardly  an  officer 
left  among  the  English,  the  colonels,  captains,  and  lieutenants, 
who  had  dashed  forward  to  encourage  their  men,  were  lying 
scattered  about  the  hill-side — patches  of  scarlet  and  steel — with 


A  MAN'S  STRENGTH  291 

their  riderless    horses    running    frantically    back    towards   the 
camp. 

Still  Cutts  came  on.  The  smoke  was  thick  about  him,  but  the 
King  could  see  him  clearly  as  he  came  every  moment  nearer.  The 
Grenadiers  had  gained  a  firm  footing  on  the  ledge  of  rock  beneath 
the  palisade,  and  were  about  to  hurl  themselves  against  it.  The 
cannonade  was  now  supplemented  by  a  storm  of  bullets.  Cutts 
gave  a  shout,  raised  his  sword,  and  pitched  to  the  ground,  shot 
through  the  head,  while  the  thinned  ranks  of  the  Grenadiers  rolled 
backwards  down  the  rocks. 

The  King  uttered  a  passionate  exclamation ;  a  bomb,  cast 
from  the  castle,  burst  near  him,  and  his  horse  reared  frantically 
at  the  explosion.  When  he  had  quieted  the  animal  and  the 
smoke  had  cleared,  he  saw  two  of  the  Grenadiers  coming  towards 
him  supporting  John  Cutts  between  them.  As  they  reached  a 
deep,  natural  gully  that  cleft  the  rock,  one  fell  and  rolled  down 
the  precipice ;  the  other  caught  his  officer  by  the  arm  and  swung 
him  across  the  chasm ;  the  King  galloped  up  to  them. 

"  Is  my  lord  slain  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  wounded  man  lifted  his  brown  eyes  and  laughed.  Blood 
blotched  the  left  side  of  his  face  and  ran  through  the  bright 
brown  English  locks. 

"  Why,  no,  sir,"  he  answered. 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  the  King.  "  But  your  men  are 
being  repulsed " 

"  God  help  me — not  for  long  ! "  cried  my  lord,  and  dashed 
the  blood  out  of  his  eyes,  and  with  that  movement  fainted. 

"  Call  up  my  surgeon,"  commanded  William  to  one  of  his 
officers.  Lord  Cutts  was  carried  out  of  the  firing  line,  and  the 
King  again  directed  his  attention  to  the  English,  who,  leaderless, 
were  nevertheless  dashing  forward,  though  without  order  or 
method,  sheer  against  the  French  fire. 

"  It  is  too  much  for  them,"  muttered  William. 

This  wild  charge  was  suddenly  checked  by  a  deep  precipice 
blown  in  the  rock  by  underground  powder  magazines ;  the  raw 
soldiers  stood  helpless,  baffled.  The  air  was  of  a  continuous 
redness ;  the  half-naked  French  gunners  could  be  seen,  running 
in  and  out  of  their  vaulted  galleries  and  crouching,  behind  the 
black  shape  of  the  guns;  flying  fragments  of  shell,  masonry. 


292  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

and  rock  fell  among  the  leaderless  English,  who  hesitated,  gave 
way,  and  retreated  down  the  bloody  slope  they  had  gained,  each 
rank  falling  back  on  the  other  in  confusion,  while  a  shout  of 
triumph  rose  from  the  fiery  ramparts  of  Namur. 

The  King  urged  his  beautiful  horse  up  the  zigzag  path.  The 
bullets  flattened  themselves  on  the  rocks  about  him  with  a  dull, 
pattering  sound;  the  horse  laid  back  its  ears  and  showed  the 
scarlet  of  its  nostrils ;  the  King,  with  infinite  skill  and  gentleness, 
brought  it  to  a  higher  ridge  where  he  could  better  survey  the 
heights.  The  English,  rolling  back  beneath  him,  looked  up  and 
saw  him  through  the  smoke,  the  sun  darting  broken  rays  off  the 
star  on  his  breast.  He  took  off  his  hat  covered  with  black  plumes 
and  waved  it  to  them  to  encourage  them  to  come  on.  A  ragged 
cheer  broke  from  them;  they  plunged  forward  again,  but  a 
terrific  fire  swept  them  back  with  half  their  number  fallen.  At 
this  moment  the  King  saw  Lord  Cutts,  hatless  and  with  a 
bandaged  head,  running  up  towards  the  glacis. 

William  rode  up  to  him.  The  red  fire  was  about  them  as  if 
it  had  been  the  colour  of  the  atmosphere. 

"My  lord,"  said  the  King,  reining  up  his  horse,  "they 
cannot  do  it." 

A  young  man  in  a  splendid  uniform  came  riding  through  the 
strong  smelling  smoke. 

"Sire,"  he  said,  saluting,  "the  Bavarians  are  giving  way — 
their  general  hath  fallen " 

William  spoke  swiftly  to  the  Englishman. 

"  Can  you  rally  your  men  to  the  assistance  of  the  Bavarians, 
my  lord  ?  'Tis  hopeless  to  attempt  to  make  a  breach  here." 

John  Cutts  smiled  up  at  his  master ;  he  had  to  shout  to  make 
his  voice  heard  through  the  rattle  of  the  cannonade — 

"  'Tis  done,  Your  Majesty  ! " 

His  gallant  figure  slipped,  like  a  hound  from  the  leash,  into 
the  smoke,  towards  where  the  English  Footguards  were  retreating, 
and  William,  pointing  with  his  baton  to  where  he  rode  that  his 
officers  might  follow  him,  swept  round  the  ramparts  to  where  the 
Bavarians  wavered  before  the  fire  of  the  French.  Regiment  after 
regiment  had  hurled  in  vain  against  the  palisades,  the  ditches 
and  clefts  were  choked  with  corpses,  and  in  every  squad  of  men 
a  great  lane  was  torn  every  time  the  French  gunners  fired  their 


A  MAN'S  STRENGTH  293 

pieces,  while  the  Dragoons  stood  on  the  glacis,  sword  in  hand, 
ready  to  cut  down  whoever  should  touch  the  palisade. 

"They  are  very  determined,"  remarked  William  calmly, 
glancing  up  at  the  red-hot  line  of  fire  bursting  from  the  French 
batteries ;  "  but  so  am  I." 

As  he  spoke  a  bullet  passed  through  his  hair  so  close  to  his 
cheek  that  he  felt  the  warm  whizz  of  it ;  and  another,  almost 
simultaneously,  tore  through  the  ends  of  his  scarf. 

"For  God's  sake,  sire,"  cried  the  officer  near  him,  "this  is 
certain  death." 

But  the  King  took  no  heed  of  him ;  his  sparkling  eyes  were 
fastened  on  the  faltering  ranks  of  Bavaria,  who  were  being  borne, 
steadily  but  surely,  down  the  slopes,  leaving  dead  behind  them, 
their  commander,  and  most  of  their  officers. 

At  the  very  moment  when  it  seemed  that  they  had  hopelessly 
lost  ground,  John  Cutts  came  running  up  with  the  colours  of  the 
Grenadiers  in  one  hand  and  his  sword  in  the  other,  behind  him 
two  hundred  of  the  English  recruits  whom  he  had  rallied  from 
the  retreat. 

The  Bavarians,  encouraged  by  this  help,  took  heart  and  came 
forward  again  and  began  climbing  up  the  rock ;  but  Cutts  and 
his  English  dashed  ahead  of  them  right  into  the  cannon  fire, 
forced  their  way  through  the  palisade,  and  engaged  in  a  hand  to 
hand  fight  with  the  gunners  and  Dragoons,  who  were  driven  back 
from  their  defences  and  hurled  over  their  own  ramparts  on  to 
the  bayonets  of  the  Bavarians  below.  In  a  few  moments  the 
English  had  captured  the  battery,  swung  the  guns  round  and 
directed  them  at  the  Castle.  With  a  shout  the  Bavarians  dashed 
through  the  breach  in  the  wall  and,  climbing  over  corpses  of  men 
and  horses,  poured  into  the  enemy's  lines. 

The  King  watched  them  as  they  scaled  ditches  and  trenches 
and  palisade,  then  made  a  detour  round  the  fire-swept  face  of 
the  rock  to  the  point  the  Dutch  had  been  ordered  to  attack. 
Splendid  soldiers,  splendidly  commanded,  they  had  already 
gained  the  position  and  with  very  little  loss ;  the  French  gunners 
lay  in  torn  and  mangled  heaps  behind  their  pieces,  which  the 
Dutch  were  engaged  in  turning  on  the  garrison. 

William  now  gave  orders  that  his  batteries  were  to  be  brought 
in  play  from  every  available  position,  both  on  the  ramparts 


294  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

gained  and  from  every  rock  and  out-work  in  the  possession  of 
the  allies.  He  himself  rode  through  the  broken  wall  and  took  up 
his  position  inside  the  French  palisades,  where  his  horse  could 
scarcely  find  a  footfall  for  the  dead  and  dying.  The  air  was  so 
full  of  powder  smoke  that  the  walls  and  turrets  of  the  castle 
appeared  to  hang  as  in  a  great  fog  with  no  visible  foundations ; 
the  crack  of  musketry  was  incessant,  and  little  threads  of  flame 
ran  across  the  dark  heavy  vapour;  fragments  of  rock  and  wall 
rolled  continually  down  the  slope — dislodged  by  bombs  bursting 
or  the  explosion  of  barrels  of  gunpowder.  But  this  was  as  nothing 
to  the  cannonade.  When  the  combined  batteries  of  the  allies 
opened  on  Namur,  the  oldest  soldier  could  remember  no  such 
fire — it  was  a  bombardment  such  as  had  never  been  known  in 
war.  The  French  gunners  dropped  one  after  another  before  they 
could  nut  their  fuses  to  their  pieces,  and  were  obliged  to  take 
refuge  in  their  underground  galleries ;  the  roar  was  unceasing,  and 
the  continual  flames  lit  up  the  rocks,  the  chasms,  the  bastions 
with  as  steady  and  awful  a  glare  as  if  the  world  was  on  fire. 

A  body  of  Dragoons  made  a  gallant  sally  out  on  to  the  glacis, 
but  were  swept  down  to  a  man  before  they  had  advanced  a 
hundred  yards.  The  Dutch,  under  cover  "of  the  French  palisades, 
picked  off  with  musket  shot  every  Frenchman  who  appeared 
within  range,  portions  of  the  walls  and  curtains  began  to  fall  in, 
the  sacking  and  wattles,  put  up  to  catch  the  bullets,  caught  fire 
and  flared  up  through  the  smoke. 

The  King  could  scarcely  see  his  own  staff-officers  for  the 
glare  and  harsh  blinding  vapour.  His  ears  were  filled  with  the 
lamentations  of  the  mangled  and  delirious  wretches  who  lay 
scattered  about  the  glacis,  and  the  sharp  screams  of  the  wounded, 
riderless  horses  who  galloped  in  their  death  agony  across  the 
ramparts  and  hurled  themselves  from  the  precipices  beneath. 
The  King  caressed  his  own  animal;  the  insensibility  of  his 
profession  had  not  overcome  his  love  of  horses.  He  never  could 
look  with  ease  at  the  sufferings  of  these  gallant  creatures ;  for  the 
rest,  he  was  utterly  unmoved.  He  turned  his  face  towards  the 
fires  that  made  many  a  veteran  wince,  and  there  was  not  the 
slightest  change  in  his  composure  save  that  he  was  more  than 
ordinarily  cheerful,  and  showed,  perhaps,  more  animation  than  he 
had  done  since  the  death  of  his  wife.  Having  satisfied  himself 


A  MAN'S  STRENGTH  295 

that  the  Dutch  had  silenced  all  the  French  batteries  at  this 
point,  he  rode  to  the  demi-bastion  where  the  Brandenburghers 
fought  the  Dragoons  in  a  terrible  battle  which  was  resulting  in  the 
French  being  driven  back  on  to  the  fire  of  their  own  guns. 
Here  he  drew  up  his  horse  on  the  edge  of  a  fosse  that  had  a 
cuvette  in  the  middle  of  it  with  a  covered  way  along  it,  from 
which  the  French  were  still  firing  from  platoons  and  muskets. 

The  King  thrust  his  baton  through  the  folds  of  his  scarf  and 
laid  his  hand  on  the  tasseled  pistol  in  his  holster ;  he  guided  his 
horse  commonly  and  by  choice  with  his  left  hand,  for  his  right 
arm  had  been  shot  through  twice,  at  St.  Neff  and  the  Boyne,  and 
was  less  easily  fatigued  with  the  sword  than  the  reins.  He  now 
looked  about  him  and  perceived  that  his  way  to  the  Branden- 
burghers was  completely  barred  by  some  traverses  to  intercept 
fire,  besides,  by  the  fosse  from  the  gazons  of  which  the  soldiers 
were  firing,  and,  on  the  glacis  which  slopes  before  it,  several 
gunners  were  hauling  a  battery  into  place ;  not  far  behind  them 
a  fierce  fire  was  being  maintained  from  a  projecting  javelin. 

The  French,  lurking  in  the  cuvette,  saw  the  King,  and, 
recognising  him  by  his  great  star,  proceeded  to  take  deliberate 
aim.  He  looked  round  for  his  staff,  whom  his  impetuous 
advance  had  completely  out-distanced,  then  galloped  his  horse 
right  along  the  counter-scarp  in  full  range  of  the  enemy's  fire. 
A  dozen  muskets  were  aimed  at  him ;  he  seemed  not  to  notice 
them,  but  set  his  horse  at  a  little  fosse  that  crossed  his  path,  and 
leapt  over  the  dead  French  and  bloody  gazons  that  filled  it.  The 
ground  on  the  other  side  was  so  cut,  dissected,  and  strewn  with 
boulders  and  fragments  of  rock,  that  the  quivering  horse  paused, 
frightened  by  the  shower  of  bullets,  and,  not  perceiving  a  foothold, 
the  King  slipped  out  of  the  saddle  without  leaving  go  of  the 
reins,  ran  along  by  the  horse's  head,  guiding  him  through  the 
debris,  and  mounted  again  without  touching  the  saddle,  a  well- 
known  feat  of  the  riding  school.  He  was  now  almost  up  to  the 
Brandenburghers,  who  raised  a  great  shout  as  they  saw  him 
galloping  up  through  the  smoke.  He  rode  along  the  front  of 
their  ranks  and  glanced  up  at  the  French  crouching  on  their 
earth-works  waiting  for  the  assault. 

The  King  drew  his  sword. 

"We  must  get  nearer  than  this,"  he  said  to  the  officer  in 


296  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

command.  He  set  spurs  to  his  horse,  and,  wheeling  round,  charged 
straight  at  the  lines  of  France,  the  Brandenburghers  after  him 
with  an  irresistible  rush. 

An  officer  of  Dragoons  rose  up  from  his  comrades  and 
struck  up  with  his  sword  at  the  figure  on  the  huge  grey  charger. 
The  King  leant  out  of  the  saddle,  parried  the  thrust  with  his 
weapon.  The  Frenchman,  hit  by  a  bullet  in  the  lungs,  rolled 
over  with  his  face  towards  the  citadel ;  the  last  thing  he  saw  on 
earth  was  the  King  of  England  high  on  the  distant  heights  ot 
Namur  with  the  column  of  Brandenburghers  behind  him  and 
before  him,  through  the  glare  the  tattered  banner  of  the 
Bourbons  waving  from  the  keep. 


CHAPTER    V 
A  LEADER  OF  NATIONS 

WHEN  the  late  evening  fell  it  was  obvious  that  nothing 
could  save  Naraur,  the  allies  had  advanced  a  mile  on 
the  outworks  of  the  castle.  M.  de  Boufflers  sent  to  request  a 
two  days'  truce  that  he  might  bury  the  dead  who  filled  fosse  and 
ditch.  The  King  granted  it.  Before  the  time  expired  the  Mare"chal 
offered  to  surrender  if  he  was  not  relieved  in  ten  days.  William 
at  once  refused.  His  terms  were  instant  surrender  or  instant 
attack.  M.  de  Boufflers  capitulated,  terms  were  speedily  agreed 
upon,  the  garrison  was  to  go  free,  the  citadel,  stores,  and  arms  to 
be  left  in  possession  of  the  allies. 

On  the  6th  September,  under  a  blazing  sun,  a  mare"chal  de 
France,  for  the  first  time  since  France  had  been  a  kingdom, 
delivered  up  a  powerful  castle  to  the  enemy.  It  was  the  first 
obvious  sign  of  that  tide  of  fortune  that  had  been  steadily 
setting  against  France  since  '88.  It  meant  more  even  than  the 
conquest  of  the  strongest  fortress  in  the  world — it  meant  that  the 
arms  of  Louis  were  no  longer  invincible. 

The  garrison,  reduced  to  five  thousand,  less  than  half  their 
original  number,  marched  out  through  the  breach  made  by  the 
guns  of  the  confederate  army,  which  was  drawn  up  in  lines  of 
foot  and  horse  that  reached  to  the  banks  of  the  glittering  Meuse. 

The  French  came  with  full  honours,  with  the  beat  of  drums  and 
the  ensigns  erect,  but  their  spirits  were  heavy  with  a  bitter  humili- 
ation. Their  reverse  was  as  unexpected  as  it  was  tremendous. 

M.  de  Boufflers  and  his  staff  came  last  of  the  garrison,  the 
Marechal  decked  with  all  the  pomp  of  war,  gold  encrusted 
cuirass,  silk  scarf,  orders,  a  splendid  white  horse  trapped  in  gilt 
and  crimson,  and  a  blue  saddle  cloth  semi  with  lilies. 

He  held  his  bare  sword  erect  and  his  face  was  set  sternly. 

297 


298  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

He  was  exceedingly  troubled  by  the  ceremony  in  which  he  was 
about  to  take  part.  He  would  not,  and  could  not,  as  a  subject  of 
King  Louis,  acknowledge  the  Prince  of  Orange  as  King  of 
England,  but  it  was  difficult  to  treat  a  victorious  general  (and 
certainly  a  King  de  facto)  with  less  than  respect  and  retain  his 
own  dignity,  especially  as  the  astute  Frenchman  was  perfectly 
well  aware  that  William  was  King  of  England  and  would  never 
be  shaken  from  his  throne  now  in  favour  of  the  old  man  who 
was  wearing  Louis'  patience  thin  with  his  complaints  and 
demands.  Moreover  Portland  had  insinuated  that  the  allies 
would  take  any  slight  to  William  very  ill  indeed ;  so,  between 
mortification  at  his  position,  his  duty  to  his  master,  his  desire 
to  avoid  the  ridiculous  and  not  offend  the  conventions  of 
martial  courtesy,  the  Mare"chal  was  in  a  perturbed  temper 
indeed.  But  as  he  neared  the  spot  where  the  allied  sovereign 
awaited  him,  even  his  dilemma  was  forgotten  in  his  curiosity  to 
see  the  man  who  filled  so  tremendous  a  part  in  the  world,  who 
for  twenty  years  had  withstood  France,  who  had  risen  to  absolute 
power  in  his  own  country,  who  had  gained  two  kingdoms  by 
diplomacy  and  a  third  by  conquest,  who  was  the  soul  of  a  huge 
coalition  and  one  of  the  greatest  soldiers  in  Europe,  the  man 
who  was  always  spoken  of  in  Paris  with  hatred  and  some  fear, 
as  an  upstart,  a  usurper,  a  heretic,  one  who  had  broken  through 
sacred  family  ties  for  the  sake  of  personal  ambition,  and  stirred 
Europe  into  a  turmoil  to  obtain  a  crown. 

This  feeling  was  shared  by  every  officer  behind  him.  They 
were  all  eager  to  see  the  Prince  whom  they  had  learnt  from 
King  James  to  regard  as  a  pitiless,  cold  self-seeker,  and  from 
Louis  as  a  royal  adventurer  unscrupulous  and  impudent. 

Not  far  from  the  castle  the  commanders  of  the  allied  forces 
were  drawn  up,  the  German  Princes,  the  representatives  of  Spain 
and  the  Northern  States  and  the  United  Provinces  on  horseback, 
and  near  them,  in  a  calash,  or  light  open  travelling  coach,  the 
King  of  England. 

M.  de  Boufflers  reined  up  his  horse  a  few  paces  away;  a 
handsome  young  gentleman  with  a  very  proud  carriage,  wearing 
a  scarlet  cloak,  was  the  foremost  of  the  group.  M.  de  Boufflers 
knew  him  for  Maximilien  of  Bavaria. 

The  garrison   came  on  slowly  past  the  four  black  coach 


A  LEADER  OF  NATIONS  299 

horses  held  by  footmen  wearing  the  livery  of  England,  until  the 
Marechal  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the  occupant  of  the  coach 
and  the  Elector  who  sat  his  horse  immediately  beside  the  door. 

There  was  a  pause  of  silence ;  M.  de  Boufflers  went  pale 
under  the  eyes,  and  looked  with  the  irresistible  attraction  of 
great  curiosity  at  the  man  in  the  coach,  who  was  surrounded  by 
these  brilliant  and  immovable  escorts  of  princely  horsemen. 

He  had  heard  the  person  of  this  Prince  often  described,  and 
common  report  had  drawn  a  picture  of  him  familiar  to  the 
minds  of  men,  but  he  found  the  original  totally  different,  though 
there  were  the  salient  characteristics,  the  frail  stature,  the  strongly 
marked  features,  the  brilliant  eyes,  so  well  known  throughout 
Europe. 

But  the  swift  and  general  impression  he  made  was  entirely 
other  to  what  the  Frenchman  had  expected.  He  saw  a  gentleman 
with  an  extraordinary  air  of  stillness  and  repose,  dressed  richly 
and  rather  heavily  in  black  and  gold,  wearing  the  George  and  the 
Ribbon  of  the  Garter,  but  no  other  decoration,  and  a  hat  with 
black  feathers  cocked  back  from  his  face ;  he  wore  a  long  neck- 
cloth of  Flanders  lace,  the  ends  of  which  were  drawn  through 
the  buttonholes  of  his  brocade  waistcoat,  after  the  English 
fashion.  He  sat  leaning  a  little  towards  M.  de  Bavaria,  and  held 
in  his  right  hand  a  cane  with  a  gold  top. 

There  was  something  in  his  expression,  his  bearing,  wholly 
unlocked  for  by  M.  de  Boufflers,  who  could  put  no  name  to  it, 
but  thought,  in  a  confused  way,  that  he  had  never  seen  a  man 
whose  principal  occupation  was  war  appear  less  of  a  soldier. 

The  King,  without  moving,  fixed  his  dark,  flashing  eyes  on 
the  Frenchman,  and  smiled,  almost  imperceptibly. 

M.  de  Boufflers  performed  the  salute  of  the  sword;  he 
lowered  his  weapon,  not  directly  at  the  King,  but  it  was  too  high 
an  honour  for  the  Elector,  an*  William  alone  bent  his  head  in 
acknowledgment. 

The  silence  was  profound  as  the  gleaming  weapon  was 
returned  to  its  sheath.  M.  de  Boufflers  drew  his  breath  un- 
steadily. He  would  go  no  further ;  he  spoke  to  the  Prince  to 
avoid  the  royal  terms  of  address. 

"  Your  Highness,  I  must  congratulate  you  upon  your  good 
fortune  though  it  is  my  own  ill  luck — but  I  must  console  myself 


300  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

that  I  have  held  even  Namur  three  months  against  such  an  army 
and  such  generals." 

The  Elector  uncovered  and,  turning  to  the  King,  repeated 
with  profound  respect  what  the  Mare"chal  had  said. 

William  touched  his  hat  in  a  formal  salute  silently.  M.  de 
Boufflers  coloured  with  vexation.  The  deference  of  the  Elector, 
so  much  his  own  superior,  made  his  own  attitude,  he  thought, 
appear  ridiculous,  but  he  haughtily  maintained  it. 

"I  surrender  to  Your  Highness  the  keys  of  the  Castle  of 
Namur,"  he  said,  and  handed  them  with  a  bow  to  the  Elector, 
who  at  once  presented  them  to  the  King. 

"Sire,"  said  M.  de  Bavaria,  very  lowly,  "M.  de  Boufflers 
has  the  honour  to  request  me  to  present  to  Your  Majesty  the 
keys  of  Namur." 

William  took  them  and  again  saluted. 

"I,  with  Your  Majesty's  permission,  will  inform  M.  de 
Boufflers  that  Your  Majesty  is  satisfied  that  the  terms  of  the 
capitulation  are  fulfilled?" 

"  Yes,  Highness,"  answered  William  gravely,  but  still  (as  M. 
de  Boufflers  was  supremely  conscious),  with  that  slight  smile. 

"  His  Majesty,"  said  the  Elector,  "  is  pleased  to  compliment 
you,  .monsieur,  upon  your  gallant  defence  of  the  citadel." 

"  I  thank  Your  Highness,"  answered  the  Mare"chal,  colouring 
deeply.  Neither  he  nor  his  officers  could  altogether  conceal  their 
astonishment  and  vexation  at  seeing  the  proudest  Princes  of 
Germany  treat  William  of  Orange  with  as  great  a  deference  as 
his  meanest  courtiers  used  to  their  own  master. 

'•  We  need  not  detain  you,  monsieur,"  said  the  Electoral  Prince. 

M.  de  Boufflers  bowed  over  his  saddle  and  passed  on,  his 
staff  officers  behind  him,  all  riding  at  the  salute  as  they  passed 
the  allied  Sovereigns. 

When  the  last  had  gone,  William,  who  had  never  taken  his 
eyes  from  the  cavalcade,  spoke  to  M.  Dyckfelt  who  rode  close  to 
the  carriage. 

"  Mynheer,"  he  said,  "  you  will  inform  M.  de  Boufflers  that 
he  is  our  prisoner  until  the  garrisons  of  Dixmuyde  and  Deynse 
are  released." 

M.  Dyckfelt  departed  with  a  body  of  Dutch  cavalry,  and,  as 
the  King  drove  off,  he  could  hear  the  indignant  exclamations  of 


A  LEADER  OF  NATIONS  301 

the  French  officers  as  the  Mare"chal  was  asked  to  deliver  up  his 
sword.  The  King  drove  to  his  tent  across  the  town  of  Namur, 
which  was  like  a  barracks  and  a  battlefield  for  soldiers  and 
wounded.  His  bodyguard  of  princes  raised  a  fine  cloud  of  white 
dust  from  the  dry  roads,  the  air  was  still  foul  with  the  smell  of 
powder  and  burning  buildings,  the  sun  burnt  in  the  acrid 
heavens  with  a  sheer  cloudless  heat  that  seemed  to  draw  all  fresh- 
ness and  moisture  out  of  the  earth,  even  the  two  great  rivers  had 
a  hard,  molten  look  in  the  glare  as  if  they  were  lead,  not  water. 

The  commanders  of  the  confederacy  dined  with  the  King ;  the 
tent  was  hot,  but  shaded  from  the  intolerable  glare  by  three  poor 
scorched  chestnut  trees  that  cast  a  meagre  shadow  over  the  canvas. 

The  Electoral  Prince  sat  at  the  King's  right,  the  Earl  of 
Portland  at  his  left,  and,  for  the  first  time,  Joost  van  Keppel  was 
at  the  King's  table,  an  honour  that  was  not  grudged  by  any  of 
the  potentates,  for  the  young  soldier  was  exceedingly  popular, 
being  amiable,  generous,  sweet  tempered,  and  deferential,  but 
Portland  marked  it  with  a  bitter  heart. 

William,  seated  in  a  vermeil  armchair,  wearing  his  hat,  and 
treated  by  the  others  as  if  they  were  no  more  than  his  subjects, 
gave  the  toast — "  The  allied  army  " — in  a  whisper  to  the  Elector, 
who  passed  it  round  the  table.  It  was  drunk  in  silence,  and  the 
long  meal,  served  on  gold  and  crystal,  began. 

The  King  spoke  hardly  at  all,  save  to  utter  a  few  sentences 
to  Portland,  who  received  them  coldly,  and  the  others  were,  out 
of  deference,  silent,  all  being,  indeed,  too  elated  with  their 
recent  great  success  (the  greatest  they  had  achieved  during  the 
war),  and  too  occupied  in  their  own  thoughts  with  what  this 
would  mean  to  their  several  interests,  to  care  for  speech. 

When  the  meal  was  nearly  over,  M.  Dyckfelt  came  to  say 
that  M.  de  Boufflers,  after  protesting  violently,  had  delivered  up 
his  sword  and  returned  to  Namur  as  a  prisoner  of  the  allies. 

"We  will  send  him  to  Huy  until  we  receive  the  two  gar- 
risons," said  William  languidly,  "  though  I  doubt  that  we  put 
too  high  a  price  on  M.  de  Boufflers." 

"  His  Master,"  remarked  M.  de  Vaudemont,  "  must  redeem 
him  even  at  a  higher  rate." 

"  Ah,  cousin,"  answered  the  King,  "  His  Majesty  will  return 
the  men  for  pride's  sake." 


302  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"And  there  is  the  English  post  in,"  said  M.  Dyckfelt,  "all 
in  a  reek  from  skirting  Villeroy's  forces." 

"  Why  must  you  remind  me  of  England  ?  "  asked  William. 

Portland  interposed  quickly — 

"  Surely  you  will  return  almost  immediately  ?  Is  this  not  a 
good  juncture  to  call  a  parliament  ?  " 

"This  is  not  a  good  season  to  discuss  politics."  The  King 
administered  his  reproof  in  the  gentlest  manner,  but  Portland, 
with  a  curt  bow,  instantly  set  down  his  glass,  rose,  and  left  the  tent. 

William  flushed,  and  a  kind  of  tremor  ran  through  the 
company.  They  thought  that  the  King  would  not  take  this  even 
from  Portland. 

But,  after  a  second,  he  turned  to  the  Prince  de  Vaudemont. 

"My  cousin,"  he  said  quietly,  "will  you  go  after  my  lord 
and  persuade  him  that  he  is  unreasonable  ?  " 

The  princes  glanced  at  each  other  covertly  as  M.  de  Vaude- 
mont obeyed.  M.  van  Keppel  coloured  violently;  he  knew 
perfectly  well  who  Portland's  wrath  was  directed  against,  but  his 
anger  was  not  personal  but  for  his  master  thus  openly  slighted. 

The  King  sat  silent,  drinking  slowly  and  looking  down  at  the 
damask  cloth.  In  a  few  moments  M.  de  Vaudemont  returned  alone. 

It  seemed  almost  incredible  that  Portland  should  refuse  to 
return  when  sent  for  by  the  King  and  by  such  a  messenger; 
William  looked  up. 

"  Sire,"  said  M.  de  Vaudemont,  "  M.  de  Portland  asks  your 
Majesty  to  excuse  his  attendance." 

The  King  made  no  answer;  he  was  outwardly  composed, 
but  the  Elector,  glancing  at  his  face,  guessed  that  his  triumph 
was  as  nothing  to  him  compared  to  the  coldness  of  his  friend. 

M.  de  Hesse  broke  the  silence. 

"  M.  de  Kohorn  lost  his  bet  after  all ! "  he  remarked ;  "  until 
this  moment  I  had  forgotten  it." 

"  I  am  a  hundred  pistoles  the  richer,"  answered  the  Elector, 
glad  of  the  discussion,  "  and  yet  I  thought  to  lose — it  was  the 
victory  of  a  few  hours  only." 

William  suddenly  laughed. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  slightly  raising  his  glass,  "  I  give 
you  the  loser  of  that  wager  and  the  man  who  took  Namur — 
Baron  Menno  Kohorn." 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  KING'S  AGENT 

IN  a  fine  dark  room  of  a  mansion  in  London,  three  men  sat 
in  attitudes  of  bewildered  trouble  and  despair,  and  a  fourth, 
standing  by  a  table  of  highly  polished  walnut  wood,  looked  at 
them  with  a  white,  bitter  face. 

It  was  August  of  1696,  and  exactly  a  year  since  the  fall  of 
Namur  had  induced  France  to  consent  to  open  negotiations  for 
a  peace.  A  Congress  sat  now  at  Ryswick,  but  with  at  present 
little  hope  of  immediate  success.  The  King  was  again  with  the 
troops  in  Flanders,  and  England  was  face  to  face  with  the 
most  momentous  crisis  in  her  history.  There  was,  literally,  not 
enough  money  to  carry  on  the  Government. 

When  the  King  had  returned  from  the  last  campaign,  he  had 
supported  Somers  and  Montague  in  the  recoinage  scheme,  by 
which  the  mutilated  and  clipped  money  of  the  realm  was  to  be 
reminted;  the  plan  was  so  daring  as  to  frighten  most  of  the 
King's  advisers,  but  Montague,  having  secured  a  certain  Isaac 
Newton  as  master  of  the  Mint,  proceeded  to  put  his  plans  into 
execution  with  skill  and  address.  He  was  also  largely  responsible 
for  the  scheme  of  the  Bank  of  England,  which,  after  paying  a 
million  and  a  half  for  its  charter,  had  enjoyed  the  confidence  of 
the  Government  until  Robert  Harley  and  Foley  revived  Chamber- 
layne's  wild  project  of  a  Land  Bank.  The  King,  anxious  for 
money  to  commence  the  campaign  and  carry  on  the  government 
during  his  absence,  had  passed  an  Act  before  he  prorogued  Par- 
liament, establishing  the  Land  Bank,  which  was  to  advance  him 
two  and  a  half  millions  at  seven  per  cent. 

The  Tories  declared  that  their  scheme  would  soon  ruin 
the  earlier  bank;  Charles  Montague  thought  so  too,  though 

he  and   most  other  thoughtful  observers  were  certain  that  the 

303 


304  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

Land  Bank  was  an  unpractical  conception,  a  mere  delusion. 
But  the  country  was  not  with  them ;  the  country  gentlemen, 
Whig  and  Tory,  believed  they  saw  an  infallible  way  of  obtaining 
riches,  the  King  wanted  the  money  too  much  to  inquire  into 
the  means  that  produced  it,  and  the  Land  Bank  appeared  to 
flourish  while  the  Bank  of  England  tottered  and  showed  every 
sign  of  ultimate  failure. 

The  Directors  found  it  impossible  to  redeem  the  paper 
money  that  they  had  put  in  circulation,  and  that  malice  or 
necessity  demanded  the  payment  of.  There  was  scarcely  any 
money  to  be  had;  the  mint  worked  day  and  night  to  turn 
out  the  new  milled  coin,  but  the  moment  it  appeared  it  was 
hoarded  by  the  panic-stricken  public.  The  paper  money 
fluctuated  in  value  so  as  to  be  almost  useless,  stock  jobbers 
caused  constant  scares  on  the  Exchange,  credit  was  paralysed, 
and  the  country  was  only  held  together  by  Montague's  device 
of  exchequer  bills  bearing  a  small  rate  of  interest. 

The  discovery  of  the  assassination  plot  and  the  Jacobite 
schemes  of  invasion  had  strengthened  the  King's  position  at 
home  and  made  him  as  popular  as  he  had  been  in  '88,  but 
it  had  resulted  in  the  recall  of  the  fleet  from  the  Mediterranean, 
the  renewed  supremacy  of  the  French  in  those  waters,  and  the 
instant  defection  of  the  Duke  of  Savoy,  thus  causing  the  first 
rift  in  the  coalition  that  William's  unwearied  skill  had  maintained 
against  the  arts  of  Louis  for  seven  years. 

He  was  now  powerless  to  bribe  or  threaten.  Early  in  the 
war  Kohorn  and  Athlone  had  burnt  the  huge  stores  that  Louis 
had  built  with  vast  expense  at  Givet,  and  France  had  staggered 
under  the  blow,  but  William  was  helpless  to  take  advantage 
of  it.  The  treachery  of  the  Duke  of  Savoy,  the  state  of  the 
English  finances,  the  general  exhaustion  of  the  allies,  caused 
M.  de  Caillieres,  the  French  representative  at  Ryswick,  to 
change  his  tone,  go  back  from  the  pledge  he  had  given  that 
William  should  be  recognised  by  Louis,  and  propound  arrogant 
terms. 

Meanwhile  the  letters  from  the  King  became  desperate; 
only  his  personal  influence  kept  the  army,  which  was  literally 
starving,  together.  He  had  pledged  his  private  fortune  and  strained 
his  private  credit  in  the  United  Provinces  as  far  as  he  could. 


THE  KING'S  AGENT  305 

And  the  subscription  list  of  the  Land  Bank  at  Exeter 
'Change  remained  blank ;  only  a  few  hundreds  had  been  added 
to  the  five  thousand  contributed  by  the  King  as  an  example. 

William  even  authorized  the  summoning  of  Parliament  during 
his  absence  ;  but  the  ministers  dare  not  risk  this  expedient.  He 
then  sent  Portland  to  London  to  represent  to  the  Council  of 
Regency  that  something  must  be  devised  to  raise  money,  or, 
in  his  own  words  to  Shrewsbury,  "All  is  lost,  and  I  must  go 
to  the  Indies." 

It  was  Portland  who  now  faced  the  three  ministers  in 
Shrewsbury's  rich  withdrawing-room. 

These  three  were  the  Lord  Keeper,  Godolphin,  the  one  Tory 
in  the  Council,  and  First  Commissioner  of  the  Treasury,  and 
Shrewsbury  himself,  now  again  Secretary  of  State,  and  as  devoted 
to  the  Government  as  if  he  had  never,  in  an  hour  of  weakness, 
tampered  with  St.  Germains ;  he  was,  perhaps,  of  the  seven 
Lords  Justices  now  governing  England,  the  one  most  liked  and 
trusted  by  the  King. 

Portland's  usual  slowness  of  speech  and  manner  had  given 
way  to  an  animated  vigour. 

"  The  King  must  have  money,"  he  said,  "  at  any  cost — 
from  anywhere ;  those  were  my  last  instructions,  and,  gentlemen, 
there  is  more  than  even  the  army  at  stake ;  it  is  the  whole  reputa- 
tion, the  whole  credit,  nay,  the  whole  existence  of  England." 

Even  the  lofty-minded  Somers,  whose  courage  had  dared 
the  Recoinage  Bill,  was  silenced ;  his  lined,  haggard,  and  blood- 
less face  was  frowning  with  anxiety. 

Godolphin,  even  at  this  crisis  contained  and  self-effacing, 
though  looking  downcast  and  sombre,  fixed  his  eyes  on  Portland 
blankly. 

Shrewsbury,  emotional,  overstrung,  and  harassed,  broke  into 
speech,  flushing  painfully  from  red  to  white  as  he  spoke,  the 
Colberteen  lace  on  his  bosom  rising  and  falling  with  his  unsteady 
breath. 

"  We  can  only  obtain  forty  thousand  pounds  from  the  Land 
Bank  subscriptions,  and  then  under  pressure  and  on  hard  terms," 
he  cried. 

All  the  company  knew  this,  but  my  lord  was  apt  to  waste 
words.     Portland  looked  at  him  in  some  disgust. 
20 


306  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"  Forty  pence  would  be  as  useful,"  he  said  dryly.  "  Come, 
my  lords,  this  Land  Bank  scheme  has  ended  in  failure ;  but  is 
there  no  alternative  to  declaring  England  bankrupt?" 

"By  Heaven,  I  can  see  nothing  else  to  do,"  returned 
Shrewsbury ;  "  but,  since  anything  is  better  than  lying  down 
under  misfortune,  I  have  put  some  hopes  on  to  these  negotiations 
with  the  Bank  of  England." 

But  it  might  be  read  from  his  tone  that  these  hopes  of 
succour  from  that  almost  defunct  institution  were  faint  indeed. 

Portland  began  walking  up  and  down  the  room;  he  was 
resolved,  if  it  was  within  the  bounds  of  possibility,  to  obtain 
this  money;  he  had  spent  many  weary  hours  trying  to  screw 
out  of  Harley  and  Foley  even  half  the  sum  they  had  talked 
of  raising,  and  it  had  been  so  much  waste  time.  The  commission 
had  expired  a  week  ago,  the  offices  in  Exeter  'Change  were 
closed,  and  Portland  was  no  nearer  the  object  of  his  journey. 
There  remained  now  only  the  Bank  of  England,  which  had  only 
been  saved  from  bankruptcy  by  a  call  of  twenty  per  cent,  on 
its  shareholders,  and  Portland  could  see  no  bright  prospects 
from  an  institution,  half  ruined,  whose  directors  were  in  an 
ill  humour  against  the  Government,  and  barely  able  to  hold 
their  own  in  the  present  crisis. 

He  stopped  at  last  before  Shrewsbury,  and  clasped  the 
back  of  the  chair  beside  him;  his  fair  face  was  set,  his  blue 
eyes  hard  and  bright.  Perhaps  he  was  the  more  resolute  to  do 
the  King  this  service  since  he  was  deeply  offended  with  him 
personally  on  account  of  Joost  van  Keppel's  rise  to  favour, 
and  their  long  and  deep  friendship  had  reached  a  crisis  that 
could  scarcely  end  in  anything  but  a  final  severance  of  their 
affection. 

"I  will  not  return  to  Flanders  without  the  money,"  he 
declared  sombrely ;  "  it  must  be  found ;  if  this  Bank  faileth 
Parliament  must  be  called." 

Shrewsbury  answered  in  desperate  peevishness — 

"  I  have  done  all  I  could — I  have  been  almost  on  my  knees 
to  the  dictators — I  am  baited  out  of  my  life !  By  God,  I  would 
sooner  be  a  hangman  or  a  butcher  than  a  statesman  ! " 

A  silence  of  despair  fell  over  the  little  company.  Godolphin 
wiped  his  lips,  and  looked  out  of  the  window  at  the  sun-baked 


THE  KING'S  AGENT  307 

street;  he  was  wondering,  with  a  sick  sense  of  personal  failure, 
what  would  happen  to  him  if  king,  government,  and  country 
crashed  on  ruin.  Somers  was  equally  silent,  but  his  thoughts 
were  far  different;  he  would  have  made  any  sacrifice  in  his 
power  to  save  the  kingdom  from  disaster. 

They  were  interrupted  by  an  usher  announcing,  "  Mr.  Charles 
Montague."  A  little  movement  of  interest  animated  them  all. 
Portland  turned  wide,  expectant  eyes  on  the  new-comer;  his 
plain  common  sense  was  quick  to  discern  genius ;  he  had  recog- 
nized it  of  late  in  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  as  he  had 
recognized  it  years  ago  in  his  master. 

Mr.  Montague  advanced  slowly,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  the 
stir  his  coming  made;  it  was  obvious  that  he  considered  the 
brilliant  success  of  his  career  entirely  due  to  his  own  gifts — 
an  opinion  his  colleagues  considered  as  unamiable  as  it  was 
correct. 

He  was  a  little  man,  and  walked  with  a  strutting  air;  his 
clothes  were  of  the  utmost  extravagance  of  fashion,  and  glistened 
with  gold  and  silver  thread  ;  his  peruke  was  curled  and  powdered 
elaborately;  and  in  the  hat  he  held  in  his  hand  was  a  small 
flashing  mirror  among  the  feathers — the  last  whim  of  the  mode ; 
but  there  was  a  pride  and  containment  in  his  sharp  features,  a 
power  and  purpose  in  his  keen  eyes,  that  overshadowed  any 
fopperies  of  dress. 

He  began  speaking  at  once,  and  abruptly,  but  with  much 
grace  in  the  delivery. 

"  My  lords,  I  am  just  come  from  the  directors  of  the  Bank. 
I  have  been  closeted  with  them  all  day,  and  they  have  promised 
me  they  will  do  what  they  can.  I  asked  for  two  hundred 
thousand  pounds.  I  told  them  it  was  the  very  least  there  was 
any  use  in  offering  to  His  Majesty.  And  I  told  them  it  must 
be  in  gold  or  silver " — he  waved  his  hand — "  no  paper,  I  said, 
for  Flanders." 

He  seated  himself,  with  another  flourishing  gesture,  on  the 
chair  near  Portland.  Under  all  his  affectations  was  noticeable  a 
deep  pride  and  satisfaction ;  the  Bank  on  which  everything  now 
depended  was  his  scheme ;  that  of  his  rival,  Harley,  had  ended  in 
dismal  failure.  He  felt  that  his  brilliant  career  would  be  more 
brilliant  still  if  his  project  saved  the  Government  now. 


308  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"  Two  hundred  thousand  ! "  said  Shrewsbury  forlornly.  The 
Land  Bank  had  promised  two  and  a  half  million,  and  the  King's 
last  entreaty  had  been  for  eight  hundred  thousand ;  but  Portland 
caught  even  at  this. 

"It  would  be  something,"  he  said;  "it  would  cover  His 
Majesty's  most  pressing  wants " 

"  It  is  all,"  answered  Mr.  Montague,  "  that  I  dare  ask  for — in 
hard  money — at  such  a  time." 

"We  are  fortunate  if  we  obtain  it,"  remarked  Somers.  "Is 
it  promised  ?  " 

"  No,  Sir  John,"  admitted  the  Chancellor ;  "  for  they  cannot 
do  it  without  another  call  of  twenty  per  cent,  on  their  subscribers, 
and  they  may  not  decide  that  themselves,  but  must  submit  it  to 
the  vote  in  a  general  court " 

"Why,"  interrupted  the  Duke,  "there  must  be  six  hundred 
with  a  right  to  vote  at  such  a  meeting  ! " 

"  About  that  number,  I  think,  your  Grace,"  said  Mr.  Montague. 

"  Why,  good-bye  then  to  our  hopes  of  even  this  beggarly  sum  ! " 
cried  Shrewsbury.  "  Are  six  hundred  likely  to  agree  to  lending 
even  sixpence  to  the  Government  ?  " 

"  Beggarly  sum ! "  repeated  Mr.  Montague.  "  My  Lord 
Portland  here  can  tell  you  what  long  debate  and  diplomacy  it 
took  to  secure  even  the  promise  of  that  amount " 

"Yes,  I  know,  Mr.  Montague,"  answered  the  Earl  grimly; 
"and  I  think  the  sum  worth  any  sacrifice.  We  must  have  it. 
Could  you  have  seen  His  Majesty,  gentlemen,  as  I  left  him  at 
Attere,  surrounded  by  straving  troops  on  the  verge  of  mutiny, 
sending  off  agents  to  endeavour  to  raise  a  few  thousands  on 
his  word  in  Amsterdam,  you  would  not  consider  two  hundred 
thousand  paltry." 

He  spoke  with  a  personal  emotion  that  surprised  the  English- 
men, who  believed  that  his  relations  with  the  King  were  painfully 
strained.  They  respected  him  for  his  loyalty,  though  none  of  them 
had  ever  liked  him,  and  Somers  at  least  gave  him  a  quiet  look  of 
sympathy. 

Shrewsbury  broke  out  into  half-hysterical  petulance. 

"  WThy  are  we  doing  it  all  ?  What  use  is  there  in  any  of  it  ? 
We  might  as  well  give  it  up  now  as  afterwards.  I  confess  that  I 
have  not  the  health  or  spirit  to  endure  more  of  it" 


THE  KING'S  AGENT  309 

Mr.  Montague  smiled ;  he  knew  perfectly  well  the  motive 
behind  every  action  he  undertook,  and  what  was  the  object  of 
his  labours.  The  younger  son  of  a  younger  son,  and  ten  years  ago 
a  Poor  Scholar  at  Cambridge,  he  was  now  one  of  the  greatest  men 
in  the  Three  Kingdoms,  and  able  to  confer  benefits  on  the  Crown. 

"There  is  no  living  in  the  world  on  any  other  terms  than 
endurance,"  he  remarked  complacently,  "and  a  financier,  your 
Grace,  must  learn  to  face  a  crisis." 

"  The  good  God  knoweth  I  am  not  one,"  returned  the  Duke 
gloomily. 

"  When  is  the  general  court  to  be  held  ? "  asked  Portland ; 
his  one  thought  to  get  the  money  from  these  men  somehow, 
and  return  with  it  to  the  desperate  King. 

"On  the  fifteenth,"  said  the  Chancellor,  "and  I  have  suffi- 
cient faith  in  the  patriotism  of  the  shareholders  to  believe  they 
will  stand  by  His  Majesty." 

Godolphin,  who  had  been  so  silent  hitherto  that  his  presence 
was  scarcely  noticed,  spoke  now  from  the  window-seat. 

"  You  have  done  us  a  great  service,  Mr.  Montague.  I  think 
we  should  all  be  very  grateful." 

This  came  gracefully  from  a  member  of  that  Tory  party  that 
had  supported  Harley's  bank.  Mr.  Montague  bowed,  very  grati- 
fied ;  my  lord  had  that  soft  way  of  conciliating  possible  enemies 
with  outspoken  courtesy. 

Portland  made  no  such  speeches ;  he  considered  it  only  the 
bare  duty  of  the  English  to  adequately  support  the  King,  whose 
life,  ever  since  his  accession,  had  been  one  struggle  to  obtain 
money  from  the  English  Parliament. 

He  took  up  his  hat  and  saluted  the  company. 

"  I  must  endure  with  what  patience  I  may  till  the  fifteenth," 
he  said,  and  left  them  gravely. 

He  went  out  into  the  sunny  streets  of  London,  and  turned 
towards  the  Mall.  There  was  no  coach  waiting  for  him ;  he  was 
frugal  in  his  habits  to  a  fault,  and  uninterested  in  any  kind  of 
display.  No  one  would  have  taken  him  for  anything  but  a  soldier 
home  from  Flanders,  tanned  at  the  wars — an  obvious  foreigner 
with  a  stiff  military  carriage. 

The  town  was  very  empty.  The  state  of  anxiety,  suspense,  and 
danger  the  country  was  passing  through  was  not  to  be  guessed  at 


310  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

from  the  well-kept  houses,  the  few  leisurely  passers-by,  and  the 
prosperous  shops  with  their  wares  displayed  behind  neat  diamond 
panes. 

Portland,  passing  the  pillared  facade  of  Northumberland 
House  and  the  bronze  statue  of  Charles  I  on  horseback,  came 
into  the  Mall,  past  the  tennis-court  and  archery  butts,  where 
several  people  were  practising,  to  the  pond  covered  with  wild 
fowl  and  overshaded  with  elm  and  chestnut  that  gave  a  thick 
green  colour  to  the  water.  To  his  right  was  a  row  of  handsome 
houses  looking  on  to  the  avenue  of  trees  in  the  Mall,  and  at 
most  of  the  windows  people  were  seated ;  for  it  was  near  the  turn 
of  the  afternoon,  and  a  pleasant  coolness  began  to  temper  the 
heat  of  the  day. 

Portland  looked  at  these  people :  fashionably  dressed  women, 
with  lap  dogs  or  embroidery,  drinking  tea  or  talking ;  easy-looking 
men  smoking  or  reading  one  of  the  new  sheets  which  had  flooded 
the  country  since  the  lapse  of  the  censorship  of  the  press — all 
comfortable,  well-to-do,  self-satisfied,  and  rather  insolent  in  their 
enjoyment  of  the  sunshine,  and  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  and  their 
own  comfortable  homes. 

William  Bentinck  seated  himself  on  a  bench  under  one  of 
the  great  elms;  he  felt  bitter  towards  these  people — towards 
England ;  he  came  near  to  hating  them  even  as  they  hated  him ; 
he  had  a  swift  impression  that  these  lazy,  prosperous  citizens 
were  the  real  masters,  and  he,  and  his  friends,  and  the  King, 
little  better  than  slaves. 

He  looked  at  the  women  and  recalled  the  poor  Queen,  who 
had  had  scarce  half  an  hour's  ease  since  she  had  set  foot  on  the 
quay  by  the  Tower ;  who  had  toiled  and  kept  a  brave  face  and 
a  high  heart,  and  done  everything  that  duty  demanded  of  her — 
and  for  what  reward  ? — to  be  reviled,  abused,  slighted  and,  finally, 
to  die  of  one  of  the  hideous  diseases  the  great  city  engendered, 
and  be  forgotten  in  the  changeable  factions  that  continued  their 
quarrels  even  before  she  was  in  her  grave. 

He  looked  at  the  men,  and  thought  of  the  last  letter  from 
the  King  he  carried  in  his  pocket ;  he  saw  some  of  the  lineS  in 
it  as  if  the  paper  was  spread  before  him — "  I  am  in  greater 
distress  for  money  than  can  well  be  imagined.  I  hope  God  will 
help  instead  of  abandoning  me ;  but  indeed  it  is  hard  not  to  lose 


THE  KING'S  AGENT  311 

all  courage."  It  seemed  to  Portland  that  Shrewsbury  was  right. 
What  was  the  use  of  any  of  it? — what  goad  kept  them  all  at 
their  tasks?  What  was  the  aim  of  all  this  incredible  labour, 
endeavour,  fatigue,  courage,  and  patience  ? 

Did  the  King  endure  what  he  was  enduring  that  these  people 
might  make  knots,  and  drink  tea,  and  sun  themselves  on  the 
Mall  in  peace  ? 

Did  he,  William  Bentinck,  who  was  fond  of  gardening,  and  a 
quiet  life,  and  his  own  country,  spend  his  life  between  war  and 
exile,  conflict  and  distasteful  company,  that  the  boys  in  the 
tennis-courts  might  play  their  games  and  laugh  and  shout  as 
much  as  they  wished  ? 

If  it  were  so,  the  objects  seemed  miserable  compared  to  the 
labour. 

But  there  was  something  more  behind  it  all ;  Portland  could 
not  put  a  name  to  it;  he  supposed  that  one  day  God  would 
explain. 


CHAPTER   VII 
THE   BANK  OF  ENGLAND 

THE  Lord  Justices  who  formed  the  Council  of  Regency 
were,  with  the  exception  of  my  Lord  of  Canterbury, 
waiting,  on  this  momentous  i5th  of  August,  in  the  long  gallery 
leading  out  of  the  Council  Chamber  in  Whitehall. 

Several  other  great  men  were  there  also;  Sunderland, 
Romney,  Wharton,  the  Duke  of  Leeds — still,  by  the  King's 
clemency,  nominally  Lord  President,  though  he  had,  since  his 
disgrace  over  the  East  India  scandal,  none  of  the  honours  or 
powers  of  that  position,  and  was  indeed  no  more  than  a  cipher 
where  he  had  once  been  all-powerful — Marlborough — who,  since 
the  Queen's  death,  vigorously  supported  Government,  while  he 
waited  with  serene  patience  for  the  death  of  William  and  the 
accession  of  the  Princess  his  mistress — Admiral  Russell,  and 
Portland,  all  filled  by  that  anxiety  that  so  nearly  touched  every 
one  of  them — would  the  Bank  of  England  raise  the  money  to  carry 
on  the  government  until  Parliament  met  on  the  King's  return  ? 

There  were  two  women  present — Lady  Sunderland,  who  was 
talking  to  Lord  Romney,  and  Elizabeth  Villiers,  now  Lady 
Orkney,  conversing  with  much  animation  with  Lord  Sunderland. 
Portland  observed  her  with  very  strong  dislike.  Though  she 
was  his  first  wife's  sister  he  had  never  been  in  the  least  intimate 
with  her ;  he  could  not  forgive  her  the  influence  she  had  gained 
and  exerted  over  William,  who  had  taken  her  advice  and  con- 
sulted her  opinion  often  enough  when  she  had  first  come  with  Mary 
to  The  Hague.  The  usual  tale-bearing,  back-biting,  mischief- 
making,  and  scandal  had  stopped  this  friendship,  but  not  before 
her  wit  and  intelligence  had  proved  of  great  service  to  the 
Stadtholder,  who,  as  Portland  knew,  had  continued  to  employ 
her  in  delicate  negotiations,  even  after  he  became  King;  and 


THE  BANK  OF  ENGLAND  313 

though  she  and  William  had  scarcely  seen  each  other  for  many 
years,  Portland  believed  that  she  still  used  an  oblique  influence 
through  Sunderland,  with  whom  she  had  formed  a  close  friend- 
ship, which  Portland  considered  very  typical  of  Elizabeth  Villiers. 

He  suspected  her  of  being  in  some  deep  intrigue  to  supplant 
him  by  Joost  van  Keppel,  towards  whom  his  feelings  were  now 
near  hatred.  He  knew  that  she  had  never  liked  him,  and  she  was 
quite  well  aware  that  he  had  again  and  again  told  the  King  it 
was  undignified  to  employ  a  woman  in  his  affairs,  and  had  even 
opposed  the  title  and  estates  given  to  her  husband  on  her 
marriage.  Portland  heard  the  tales  this  gave  rise  to  if  the  King 
did  not ;  Portland  was  vexed  by  the  revival  of  old  scandals  if 
Lady  Villiers  was  not ;  he  loathed  the  woman  and  resented  her 
presence  here  to-day. 

As  he  continued  to  stare  at  her  across  the  splendid  gallery,  she 
suddenly  looked  round  at  him,  gave  Sunderland  a  quick  sentence, 
and  to  Portland's  equal  surprise  and  vexation  crossed  over  to  him. 

"  It  is  a  long  time  since  we  have  met,"  she  said,  and  gave 
one  of  her  straight  smiles. 

She  was  dressed  in  violet  and  silver,  and  wore  a  great  Indian 
scarf  about  her  shoulders  as  if  it  were  cold,  instead  of  August. 

"I  have  been  too  employed  to  wait  on  your  ladyship," 
answered  Portland. 

She  took  no  notice  of  that,  but  said  abruptly — 

"  How  did  you  leave  the  King?  " 

"  As  much  at  ease  as  a  man  in  his  position  could  be,"  said 
the  Earl  grimly. 

Lady  Orkney  did  not  look  at  Portland,  but  rather  absently 
down  the  room. 

"  He  must  be  fairly  weary  of  it  all,"  she  replied.  "  Do  you 
think,"  she  added  rather  sharply,  "he  hath  recovered  from  the 
death  of  the  Queen  ?  " 

"  No,  madam,  nor  will  he  ever,"  said  my  lord  sternly. 

"  How  you  dislike  me  ! "  cried  Lady  Orkney  softly.  "  And  I 
would  have  been  a  good  friend  to  you  if  you  would  have  let  me 
— believe  me  " — she  looked  at  him  full  now — "  I  would  never 
do  an  ill  turn  to  one  of  the  King's  friends." 

"  What  is  this,  madam  ?  "  he  asked  haughtily. 

"  Oh,  you  understand,"  she  answered.     "  You  know  that  M 


314  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

van  Keppel  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  you  have  tried  to  do  him 
ill  offices — I  tell  you  that  you  have  no  cause — Joost  van  Keppel 
will  harm  nobody.  Let  him  be." 

Portland  was  silent  in  sheer  disdain.  Elizabeth  Villiers  fixed 
him  with  her  queer  eyes ;  her  pronounced  cast  was  very  noticeable. 

"  You  should  not  dislike  me,"  she  said,  "  because  I  sometimes 
help  the  King — Joost  van  Keppel  will  help  him  too,  even  in  such 
follies  as  courtesy  and  an  obliging  temper — a  sweet  reverence 
might  mean  much  to  a  broken  man — consider  that,  my  lord." 

He  answered  brusquely. 

"I  consider  that  Joost  van  Keppel  is  a  worthless  young 
rake-hell,  and  that  those  who  push  him  into  His  Majesty's  favour 
can  have  only  mean  motives." 

"  You  certainly  do  not  understand,"  she  said  quietly. 

A  sudden  thought  flashed  to  Portland. 

"  Was  it  you,  my  lady,"  he  asked,  "  who  put  Sunderland  to 
bring  van  Keppel  forward  with  his  tale  of  Namur  when  the  King 
was  sick  ?  " 

"  Have  you  only  just  guessed  it  ?  "  she  answered. 

"  I  might  have  known  it  was  a  woman's  trick,"  he  said 
bitterly.  "  What  made  you  think  of  such  a  device  ?  " 

She  smiled  and  made  no  answer. 

"  And  why  did  you  employ  M.  van  Keppel  ?  "  added  Portland. 

"  Because,"  said  Lady  Orkney,  "  he  was  of  the  age  the  King's 
son  might  have  been." 

Portland  stared. 

"  A  woman's  trick,  you  see."  She  smiled.  "  Women  think  of 
these  things — do  not  consider  me  as  a  vulgar  intriguer,  even  if 
you  cannot  understand,  and  let  M.  van  Keppel  be — I  think  he 
will  console  the  King  a  little." 

"  I,  at  least,  am  above  your  devices  and  those  of  my  Lord 
Sunderland,"  he  answered  roughly. 

Lady  Orkney  replied,  still  smiling,  but  with  infinite  sadness — 

"  Could  you  see  into  my  heart  you  would  know  that  I  am  not 
so  happy  but  that  you  might  spare  me." 

She  gave  a  little  courtsey  and  left  him.  He  watched  her 
return  to  the  window  and  look  out  at  the  alleys  and  parterres  of 
the  privy  garden. 

He  had  been  a  little  confused,  but  in  no  way  appeased  by  her 


THE  BANK  OF  ENGLAND  315 

conversation.  She  had  confessed  that  she  and  Sunderland  were 
behind  van  Keppel,  towards  whom  his  thoughts  turned  with  added 
dislike ;  then  he  tried  to  banish  consideration  of  all  three  of  them, 
and  to  fix  his  mind  on  the  money  he  must  obtain  for  the  King. 

Devonshire  (the  Lord  Steward),  Pembroke  (Keeper  of  the 
Privy  Seal),  and  Dorset  (the  Lord  Chamberlain),  were  talking 
apart,  and  Portland  joined  them. 

Pembroke  informed  him  that  Montague  had  gone  down  to 
the  General  Meeting  of  the  Bank  of  England  and  had  promised 
to  return  immediately  with  the  news  of  the  result  of  the  Directors' 
proposition  to  the  Company. 

"  If  these  hopes  vanish,"  said  Devonshire  gloomily,  "  what 
are  we  to  turn  to  next  ?  " 

"  A  Parliament  and  taxes,"  answered  Dorset  concisely. 

"Oh,  my  lord,"  cried  Pembroke,  "Mr.  Locke  will  tell  you 
that  is  bad  finance." 

"Mr.  Locke  is  a  philosopher,"  remarked  Dorset  good- 
humouredly. 

"Good  God,  we  get  choked  with  'em,"  remarked  the  magni 
ficent  Devonshire.  "  Now  Montague  hath  brought  Mr.  Newton 
into  the  Mint  and  Somers  is  always  deep  with  Mr.  Locke " 

"And  my  Lord  Portland,"  cried  Dorset,  with  the  irrepress- 
ible levity  of  his  class  and  nation,  "deep  with  a  poet  for  his 
secretary." 

"As  for  that  same  poet,"  said  Portland  gravely,  "I  tell  you, 
my  lord,  that  he  now  goeth  to  Church,  and  will  not  write  profane 
verses  on  a  Sabbath." 

"  A  triumph  indeed  for  the  godliness  of  your  lordship,"  said 
Devonshire  demurely. 

"  Is  this  poor  Matt  Prior  ?  "  asked  Dorset.  "  His  verses  on 
the  taking  of  Namur  were  very  neat." 

"  I  did  not  read  them,"  answered  Portland  dryly.  "  I  never 
could  endure  poetry  or  play-acting — the  King  is  plagued  with 
enough  to  paper  London." 

"  I  remember  in  The  Hague,"  smiled  Devonshire,  "  when 
His  Majesty  was  expecting  a  promise  of  money  from  Amsterdam 
by  every  post,  and  I  took  in  a  letter  which  I  thought  was  it — but 
which  proved  to  be  a  copy  of  verses  on  his  safe  crossing  from 
England,  with  a  fresh  heathen  god  in  every  line — His  Majesty's 


3i6  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

curses  were  powerful  for  a  Christian  Prince — and  he  declared  it 
had  given  him  a  distaste  for  the  very  sight  of  poetry." 

Dorset  laughed ;  he  remembered  the  occasion  also  as  the 
only  one  on  which  he  had  heard  violent  language  from  the 
austere  King.  Portland  was  disgusted  that  they  could  amuse 
themselves  with  these  recollections  during  such  anxious  moments ; 
it  was  only  another  proof,  he  thought,  of  the  shallowness  of  the 
English  politicians.  And  even  these  anecdotes  turned  on  the 
King's  lack  of  money ;  it  must  be  six  years  since  Devonshire  was 
at  The  Hague,  and  William  was  still  in  the  same  straits.  Portland 
wondered  if  the  time  would  ever  come  when  he  would  be  free  of 
these  burdens,  and  doubted  it. 

The  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  entered  the  gallery,  and 
instantly  everybody  formed  a  little  group  about  him,  including 
the  two  ladies,  to  whom  he  gave  a  flourishing  and  gallant  greeting. 
"  I  must  tell  you,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  and  with  a  manner  that 
strove  to  be  indifferent,  yet  with  a  face  flushed  with  pride,  "that 
the  money  hath  been  subscribed  to  His  Majesty." 
Portland  drew  a  great  breath  of  relief. 

"  Promised,"  continued  Montague,  "  in  gold  and  silver,  which 
will  be  ready  to  be  packed  up  and  taken  to  Flanders  to-morrow." 
"How   was   this   accomplished?"  asked   Devonshire.      "I 
hardly  thought,  this  cruel  year,  they  could  do  it." 

"Thank  God  they  have,"  murmured  Shrewsbury ;  " for  if  this 
had  failed  I  know  not  what  we  should  have  done." 

"  Your  Grace,"  answered  Mr.  Montague,  "  when  I  lent  my 
support  to  this  Bank  I  did  not  think  it  was  likely  to  be  a  failure. 
Yet  I  must  confess  that  I  had  some  misgivings  to-day  when  I 
entered  the  General  Court — there  was  my  Lord  Mayor  in  the 
chair,  looking  as  gloomy  as  need  be,  and  six  hundred  or  more  of 
the  company,  all  thrifty  merchants.  Sir  John  got  up  and  read 
the  speech  Composed  by  the  Directors  and  sat  down  again  in 
none  too  easy  a  frame  of  mind,  it  seemed,  and  a  great  hum  went 
up  from  the  subscribers,  and  you  might  see  them  turning  to  each 
other  and  whispering,  but  making  no  kind  of  public  response ; 
then  up  sprang  Sir  John  again,  and  implored  them  stand  by  the 
King — at  which  one  rose  and  said,  'We  desire  nothing  more 
than  to  oblige  His  Majesty,  but  it  is  a  hard  thing  to  ask  for  gold 
these  times,  and  our  notes  of  hand  should  be  good  enough.' 


THE  BANK  OF  ENGLAND  317 

'Nothing  but  gold  is  any  use  to  His  Majesty  in  Flanders,' 
declared  Sir  John.  '  I  am  asking  you  for  this  sacrifice  for  nothing 
less  than  the  preservation  of  the  kingdoms,  otherwise  I  could 
not  in  conscience  do  it'  At  last,  after  some  murmuring,  it  was  put 
to  the  vote,  and  all  held  up  their  hands  for  sending  the  money, 
and  Sir  John  came  to  me  all  in  a  tremble,  and  hoped  I  would 
remember  that  the  Bank  had  saved  the  Government — he  said  it 
had  been  as  anxious  an  hour  as  he  was  ever  like  to  have  in  his 
life.  At  hearing  the  resolution  of  the  Bank,  several  gentlemen,  who 
had  been  waiting  without,  came  in  to  buy  shares,  and  several 
thousand  pounds'  worth  were  subscribed  before  I  left." 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  speech  Mr.  Montague  looked  round 
his  company  with  an  air  of  conscious  satisfaction.  Portland  had 
gone  to  write  this  news  off  to  the  King,  caring  indeed  for  nothing 
but  the  sheer  fact  that  he  could  return  to  Attere  immediately 
with  the  money,  but  the  others,  including  even  the  feeble,  dis- 
graced Leeds,  had  listened  with  eager  interest. 

"  Well  done,"  cried  Lady  Orkney.  "  Mr.  Montague,  you  are  a 
miracle  of  wit — and  I  am  going  to  follow  the  example  of  these 
same  gentlemen  and  purchase  stock  in  this  Bank  of  yours." 

"  So  am  I,"  declared  Devonshire.  "  I  will  send  my  agent  down 
there  to-night,  sir,  the  service  it  hath  done  cannot  be  overestimated." 

In  a  breath  every  Minister  in  the  room  had  promised  to  show 
the  same  instance  of  attachment  to  the  institution  that  had  saved 
the  Government,  and  when  the  energetic  young  Chancellor  left 
Whitehall  the  congratulations  of  the  whole  Council  of  Regency 
were  ringing  in  his  ears. 

He  entered  his  smart  coach  and  drove  straight  to  the  Mint, 
where  men  were  working  day  and  night  at  the  milled  money  which 
he  and  his  friend  Mr.  Newton  were  turning  out  at  the  rate  of  a 
hundred  and  twenty  thousand  a  week.  Fifteen  thousand  was  the 
highest  amount  the  former  master  of  the  Mint  had  declared  it  was 
possible  to  produce  in  that  time,  but  Mr.  Newton  had  done  the 
incredible  in  reforming  the  Mint.  It  was  to  his  apartments  Charles 
Montague  went  now,  twirling  his  cane  and  fluttering  his  laces. 

The  Warden  of  His  Majesty's  Mint  and  Exchanges  and  Pro- 
fessor of  Mathematics  at  Cambridge  was  a  gentleman  a  little  past 
middle  life,  of  a  very  refined  aristocratic  appearance,  with  an  air 
of  extraordinary  calm  and  stillness. 


318  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

He  wore  a  murrey-coloured  coat,  a  small  grey  peruke,  and  a 
little  brooch  of  rubies  in  a  plain  lace  cravat.  When  Mr.  Mon- 
tague entered  he  was  seated  at  a  table  covered  with  a  multitude 
of  papers.  He  looked  up  instantly;  his  delicate  features  ex- 
pressed a  very  winning  composed  dignity. 

"  I  wished  to  speak  to  you  about  the  new  Mint  at  Chester, 
Mr.  Newton,"  said  the  Chancellor;  his  manner  was  totally 
different  from  that  he  had  used  to  the  Ministers  at  Whitehall. 

"  Another  Mint,  yes,  Mr.  Montague,"  answered  the  Warden, 
in  the  same  grave  tone.  "  Those  at  York  and  Norwich  have 
been  very  popular,  but  I  fear  we  have  not  enough  trained  men 
to  spare  yet — though  I  am  having  them  taught  as  fast  as  may  be." 

"I  want  more  than  will  suffice  for  Chester,"  said  the 
Chancellor  briskly.  "  I  thought  of  Bristol  and  Exeter  as  likely 
stations." 

He  seated  himself  by  the  window  and  looked  out  on  the 
pleasant  prospect  of  the  sunny  river  and  glistening  roofs. 

"The  people  take  it  very  well,"  he  added.  "One  could  not 
have  hoped  to  pass  through  the  crisis  better ;  there  is  a  good 
temper  and  a  good  sense  shown  very  gratifying." 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Newton ;  "  but  one  may  always  look 
for  both  from  the  English." 

A  servant  entered  with  a  letter,  which  he  glanced  at  and  laid 
down  with  a  gentle  little  sound  of  displeasure. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Montague. 

"  Oh,  'tis  from  Flamsteed ;  he  is  ever  dunning  me  to  go 
see  his  observatory  at  Greenwich — he  cannot  believe  that  there 
is  anything  in  the  world  more  important  than  stars,  nor  that  I  do 
not  love  to  be  teased  with  mathematical  things  when  I  am 
about  the  King's  business." 

Mr.  Montague  glanced  at  the  astronomer's  sealed  letter. 

"Speaking  of  the  King's  business,"  he  remarked,  "the 
Bank  of  England  hath  promised  to  advance  the  two  hundred 
thousand  for  the  troops  in  Flanders." 

Mr.  Newton  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Why,  I  am  glad  of  that.  Sir,  this  is  a  great  thing — it  will 
greatly  raise  the  credit  of  the  Bank." 

"  I  think,"  replied  the  young  Chancellor,  "  without  vanity, 
that  the  Bank  of  England  is  an  institution  that  will  live." 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  BREAKING  FRIENDSHIP 

TWO  men  were  riding  side  by  side  through  the  forest  of 
Soignies ;  before  and  behind  them  was  a  great  army.  It 
was  a  May  night,  with  the  moon  full  overhead  and  casting  long 
shadows  from  the  tall,  dark,  motionless  trees.  News  had  been 
received  at  the  camp  the  evening  before  that  the  French  were 
threatening  Brussels,  and  the  confederate  army  was  marching  to 
save  the  Capital. 

These  two  men  who  rode  in  the  centre  were  alone,  though 
part  of  such  an  immense  force;  for  the  Dutch  guards,  who 
marched  before  and  behind  them  were  several  yards  distant ; 
they  were  both  wrapped  in  long  military  cloaks.  One,  who  was 
the  King-Stadtholder,  the  commander  of  the  allies,  was  mounted 
on  a  white  horse ;  the  other,  William  Bentinck,  Earl  of  Portland, 
rode  a  great  brown  steed.  The  King  was  speaking  very  earnestly, 
in  a  lowered  voice  suited  to  the  hush  of  the  warm  night  and  the 
solemnity  of  the  long  defiles  they  traversed. 

"  I  must  tell  you  of  the  dispatch  I  received  from  my  Lord 
Devonshire.  I  had  scarcely  received  it  before  we  broke  camp, 
or  I  had  told  you  before.  This  John  Fenwick,  the  Jacobite, 
hath  made  a  cunning  confession,  designed  to  put  the  Govern- 
ment into  a  confusion.  He  accuseth  Godolphin,  Shrewsbury, 
Marlborough,  and  Russell  of  being  deep  with  St.  Germains." 

Portland  made  no  answer. 

"  It  was,"  continued  the  King,  "  no  news  to  me,  as  you 
know." 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  "  asked  the  Earl. 

"I  have  done  nothing  yet.  I  shall  write  to  Devonshire 
ordering  the  trial  of  this  Fenwick  to  proceed." 

"  And  for  these  lords  ?  " 

319 


320  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"I  shall  affect  to  disbelieve  this  evidence," answered  William. 
"  And  Shrewsbury,  at  least,  I  shall  assure  of  my  trust." 

"And  so  traitors  flourish  !" 

There  was  silence  for  awhile,  only  broken  by  the  jingle  of 
the  harness,  the  fall  of  the  horses'  feet,  and  the  tramp  of  the 
army  before  and  behind.  The  faces  of  the  two  men  were  hidden 
from  each  other ;  they  could  only  discern  outline  of  horse  and 
figure  as  the  moonlight  fell  between  the  elms  and  oaks. 

The  King  spoke  again. 

"  I  have  learnt  to  be  tolerant  of  treason.  These  men  serve 
me  —  even  Marlborough  —  instruments  all  of  them!  And 
Shrewsbury  I  ever  liked.  I  will  not  have  him  put  out  for 
this." 

"  You  will  even  let  them  remain  in  office  ?  " 

"  Surely,"  answered  the  King,  "  it  would  be  beneath  me  to 
stoop  to  vengeance?  And  what  else  would  this  be?  Both 
policy  and  kindness  dictate  to  me  this  course." 

Portland's  voice  came  heavily  out  of  the  morning  shadows. 

"You  are  too  lenient  to  every  sort  of  fault.  These  men  do 
not  even  know  you  spare  them — they  think  you  are  fooled. 
Marlborough  will  laugh  at  you." 

"  What  doth  that  matter  if  he  serveth  my  turn  ?  He  is  a 
villain,  but  a  great  man — he  should  be  useful  to  England." 

The  King  spoke  in  strained,  weary  accents,  and  with,  it 
seemed,  but  little  interest. 

"  Besides,"  he  added,  "  I  do  not  believe  half  of  what  Fen- 
wick  saith." 

Portland  retorted  sharply. 

"You  did  not  believe  the  assassination  plot  itself  until  I 
produced  Prendergrass,  who  had  heard  them  discuss  who  was  to 
fire  the  bullet  on  Turnham  Green." 

The  King  answered  simply — 

"  One  becometh  so  well  used  to  these  attempts,  I  should 
have  been  dead  ten  times  if  assassins  could  have  done  it.  That 
was  not  the  way  ordained." 

"  I  hope,"  said  Portland  dryly,  "  that  your  clemency  will  be 
rewarded.  I,  for  one,  could  well  wish  to  see  these  traitors  come 
to  their  punishment — yea,  and  such  men  as  Sunderland " 

William  interrupted. 


THE  BREAKING  FRIENDSHIP          321 

"I  hope  they  will  leave  me  Sunderland — I  could  ill  do 
without  him.  But  I  hear  he  is  likely  to  be  pressed  hard  in  the 
Commons." 

"I  cannot  wonder,"  returned  Portland,  "but  only  at  you 
who  continue  to  employ  such  a  man." 

The  King  did  not  answer  at  once.  The  moon  was  sinking 
and  taking  on  a  yellow  colour,  the  shadows  were  fainter  and 
blended  one  with  another,  the  trunks,  branches,  and  clustering 
leaves  of  the  great  trees  began  to  show  dimly  against  a  paling 
sky;  there  was  a  deep  stir  of  freshness  in  the  still  air,  the 
perfume  of  grass,  bracken,  and  late  violets.  The  steady,  unbroken 
tramp  of  the  great  army  seemed  to  grow  louder  with  the  first 
lifting  of  the  night ;  the  men,  in  ranks  of  not  more  than  four, 
could  be  seen  defiling  through  the  yet  dark  forest. 

The  King  spoke,  looking  ahead  of  him. 

"Of  late  I  can  do  nothing  to  please  you,"  he  said  in  a 
whisper.  "  It  is  not  pleasant  to  me  to  have  this  growing  coldness." 

"  Your  Majesty  hath  other  friends,"  answered  Portland  bitterly. 

"You  are  unreasonable,"  said  the  King,  in  the  same  sad, 
broken  voice.  "I  cannot  withdraw  my  favour  from  M.  van 
Keppel — justice  and  dignity  forbid  it.  You  should  under- 
stand that,  William.  I  also  might  have  my  complaints;  it  is 
not  easy  for  me  to  keep  the  peace  between  you  and  M.  van 
Keppel.  Your  constant  quarrels  make  my  household  in  a 
perpetual  tumult — and,  I  must  say  it,  it  is  not  M.  van  Keppel 
who  is  generally  the  aggressor." 

"His  presence  is  an  offence,"  declared  Portland  hotly;  "a 
creature  of  my  Lord  Sunderland,  a  flattering,  smooth-tongued 
boy — a  dissolute  rake  who  hath  done  nothing  for  your  service  ! " 

The  King  turned  his  face  towards  his  friend. 

"It  cuts  me  to  the  heart,"  he  said,  with  great  emotion,  "that 
you  should  dream — for  one  second — that  he  could  make  me 
ever  forget  or  undervalue  all  the  services  I  owe  to  you. 
Nothing  could  alter  my  affection  for  you ;  it  is  my  great  grief 
that  you  should  not  feel  that  as  I  do." 

"You  have  changed,"  was  all  Portland  said. 

The  King  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  sky  showing  between  the 
trees  they  rode  past,  his  haggard  face  was  faintly  visible  in 
the  increasing  light. 

21 


322  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"Yes,  I  have  changed,"  he  said  slowly.  "Perhaps  even 
you  cannot  guess  how  much.  I  could  not  convey  to  you 
how  utterly  indifferent  all  the  world  is  to  me  save  only  my 
hope  to  a  little  more  complete  the  task  God  put  upon  me. 
Your  friendship  is  all  that  is  left  to  me.  Nothing  hath  been 
real  since — she — died.  I  only  act  and  think  and  go  through 
my  days  because  I  believe  she  would  have  wished  it.  I  only 
do  this  and  that  because  I  think — she  would  have  done  it. 
I  only  keep  on  because  she  wished  that,  even  at  the  last.  I 
only  endure  to  live  because  I  dare  to  hope  she  may  be  some- 
where— waiting " 

His  voice  sank  so  low  as  to  be  almost  incoherent ;  Portland 
could  scarcely  catch  the  words.  They  came  to  a  little  hollow 
beside  the  path  that  was  filled  with  spring  flowers  opening  to 
the  dawn,  daisies  and  lilies  and  tufts  of  fresh  green. 

The  King  spoke  again. 

"  For  the  rest,  all  is  dead — here,"  he  lightly  touched  his  heart. 
"You  alone  have  the  power  to  hurt  me,  and  you  should  use 
it  tenderly." 

Portland  had  meant  to  resign  his  position  in  the  King's 
household,  so  intolerable  had  it  become  to  him,  but  now 
restrained  himself. 

"I  will  serve  you  till  death,"  he  said,  with  his  air  of  cold, 
high  breeding.  "Your  Majesty  must  believe  that  of  me." 

William  gave  a  little  sigh. 

"What  of  this  Congress  at  Ryswick?"  added  Portland,  "and 
your  suggestion  that  I  should  see  M.  de  Boufflers  ?  " 

He  thought  that  it  would  be  something  of  a  compromise 
if  he  could  still  continue  to  serve  the  King  yet  get  away  from 
the  odious  van  Keppel. 

"They  will  never  do  anything  at  Ryswick,"  answered  the 
King  wearily.  "They  fill  their  time  with  ceremonies  and 
vexations,  and  this  time  a  hundred  years  might  find  them  still 
arguing  there.  And  I  am  resolute  for  peace  now  as  all  my  life 
I  have  been  resolute  for  war.  No  need  to  explain  my  policy 
to  you.  We  shall  never  get  better  terms  than  France  offereth 
now,  and  they  must  not  be  lost  through  the  intolerable 
impertinences  of  Spain,  who  hath  contributed  nothing  but 
rigmaroles  to  the  coalition  from  the  first." 


THE  BREAKING  FRIENDSHIP  323 

"I  think,"  said  Portland,  "I  could  get  some  satisfaction 
from  M.  de  Boufflers." 

The  French  Mare"chal  had  formed  a  friendship  with  Port- 
land when  he  had  been  his  prisoner  at  Huy,  after  the  fall  of 
Namur,  and  it  had  recently  occurred  to  William  to  use  this 
friendship  to  open  negotiations  between  England  and  France, 
regardless  of  the  formal  mummeries  of  the  Congress,  which 
seemed  to  be  likely  to  be  as  protracted  as  that  held  at 
Mymwegen  in  '79. 

It  was  William's  object  to  discover  if  Louis  was  in  earnest. 
The  listlessness  of  Spain,  the  ambition  of  the  Emperor  must 
bow  if  once  France,  England,  and  Holland  came  to  terms. 
What  he  proposed  was  daring  and  unconstitutional.  He  had 
not  informed  a  single  English  politician  of  his  plan,  and 
Portland,  whom  he  thought  to  employ,  was  not  even  an  English- 
man, but  William  was  never  stopped  by  any  fear  of  responsi- 
bility. If  he  could  accomplish  an  honourable  peace  (the  very 
best  he  could  obtain  he  knew  would  be  only  a  breathing  space 
for  there  was  the  tremendous  question  of  the  Spanish  Succession 
ahead),  he  cared  nothing  for  the  temper  of  the  English  parlia- 
ment or  the  complaints  of  the  allies,  and  in  the  United 
Provinces  he  was  practically  absolute.  He  had  before  suggested 
to  Portland  that  he  should  write  and  open  negotiations  with 
Boufflers,  and  had  mentioned  Hal,  midway  between  Brussels 
and  Mons,  as  a  likely  place  for  an  interview.  He  now,  on 
Portland's  words,  reverted  to  this  and  discussed  the  details 
of  the  scheme  that  was  to  give  peace  to  Europe  in  his  weary, 
low,  and  strained  voice,  broken  by  constant  coughs. 

The  forest  of  Soignies  began  to  break ;  the  trees  became 
thinner  and  were  scattered  to  right  and  left  like  echelons  of 
soldiers,  the  whole  heaven  was  clear  of  cloud,  and  the  sun,  just 
rising  above  the  plains  of  Brabant,  filled  the  air  with  a  steady 
colour  of  pearl-blue. 

A  little  wind  touched  the  trees,  then  was  silent ;  the  constant 
noise  of  birds  accompanied  the  tramp  of  the  heavy  infantry 
and  the  distant,  unequal  rumble  of  the  gun  carriages  and 
baggage  waggons. 

The  King  loosened  his  cloak,  cast  it  over  his  holster,  and 
looked  back  at  the  army  following  him  through  the  wood. 


324  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"  If  we  sign  peace  this  year  this  will  be  my  last  campaign, 
he  remarked. 

Portland  looked  at  him  quickly. 

"  The  Spanish  question — there  will  be  war  there — and  before 
long." 

"But  I  have  so  few  years  to  live,"  answered  the  King 
simply ;  "  for  with  this  peace  my  work  would  be  done.  No,  I 
think  I  shall  never  lead  an  army  across  the  Netherlands  again." 

They  rode  clear  of  the  trees  now,  and  saw  before  them  the 
beautiful  valley  soft  and  veiled  in  the  mists  of  morning. 

The  King  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  spot  where  Brussels  lay.  If 
Villeroy  had  outmarched  him  and  was  bombarding  the  capital 
as  he  had  bombarded  it  last  year,  the  allies  had  been  check- 
mated and  there  would  be  little  hope  for  the  prospects  of  peace. 

Scouts  were  sent  out  to  ascertain  the  movements  of  the  enemy ; 
no  sign  of  their  fires  could  be  discerned.  William  thought  that 
his  activity  had  saved  Brussels  and  that  there  were  no  fears 
from  Villeroy.  He  pushed  on,  and,  by  ten  in  the  morning,  after 
having  ridden  fifteen  hours,  reached  the  still  unmolested  ram- 
parts of  the  capital  from  which  the  Spanish  flag  was  yet  flying. 

He  instantly  took  up  his  position  before  the  walls  and 
proceeded  to  strongly  entrench  himself  on  the  very  spot  from 
which  Villeroy  had  dropped  his  shells  into  Brussels  near  a  year 
ago  when  the  allies  were  before  Namur. 

It  appeared  that  he  had  saved  the  magnificent  city  by  a  few 
hours;  before  midday  the  French  came  up,  but,  finding  the 
confederate  army  already  so  strongly  fortified,  fell  back  across 
Brabant  without  firing  a  shot. 

The  King,  as  he  rode  about  surveying  the  encampment,  sent 
for  Portland. 

The  Earl  came,  and  the  two  men  looked  at  each  other 
steadily;  the  hasty  earthworks,  the  rising  canvas,  the  sights 
and  sounds  of  the  camp  were  about  them,  overhead  the  blazing 
blue  faintly  hazed  with  clouds  of  heat. 

William  held  out  his  thin,  bare  right  hand. 

"Since  I  think  you  are  resolute  to  leave  me,"  he  said,  "I 
would  have  you  go  to  Hal  to  meet  M.  de  Boufflers."  He 
added  with  great  sweetness,  "  I  put  the  fate  of  Europe  in  your 
hands,  and  could  put  it  in  none  more  worthy." 


CHAPTER   IX 
PEACE 

THE  Earl  of  Sunderland  was  again  as  great  as  he  had  been 
when  he  held  James  Stewart  infatuate  in  his  power,  and 
as  well  hated  throughout  the  country  as  then.  The  King  had 
long  consulted  him  in  private,  and  now  he  was  recognized  as 
principal  adviser  to  the  Crown,  and  carried  the  gold  key  that 
was  the  symbol  of  the  office  of  Lord  Chamberlain. 

He  had  no  rival.  Halifax  was  dead ;  Leeds  a  mere  shadow ; 
his  intrigues  had  brought  about  the  resignation  of  Godolphin, 
who  had  been  implicated  in  the  disclosures  of  Sir  John  Fenwick  ; 
Shrewsbury,  stricken  with  remorse  at  his  own  treachery  and  the 
King's  generosity,  was  but  a  figure  in  the  background ;  and  the 
other  ministers,  even  such  as  Romney,  who  was  William's  per- 
sonal friend,  had  little  influence ;  Portland's  power  was  not  what 
it  had  been,  and  his  rival,  M.  van  Keppel,  largely  owed  his 
fortunes  to  Sunderland.  The  Lord  Chamberlain  was  supreme 
in  this  year  1697,  the  year  of  the  peace  framed  by  Portland  and 
Boufflers  in  the  orchard  at  Huy  and  signed  by  the  Congress  at 
the  King's  palace  of  Ryswick. 

This  peace  was  an  honourable  close  to  an  honourable  conflict. 
Louis  recognized  William  as  King  of  England,  and  granted  most 
of  the  terms  desired  by  the  allies,  not  one  of  whom  complained 
that  they  had  been  forgotten  or  slighted  by  the  King  in  the 
framing  of  the  articles.  The  delay  of  Spain  and  the  Emperor  to 
sign,  despite  William's  entreaties,  had  resulted  in  the  fall  of 
Barcelona  and  Louis'  consequent  rise  of  terms,  the  principal 
of  which  was  the  retention  of  Strassburg — a  severe  blow  to 
Austria.  But,  on  the  whole,  the  peace  was  favourable  to  the 
coalition,  and  in  England  and  Holland  at  least  was  received 

with  unbounded  rejoicing.     William's  return  from  the  Continent 

335 


326  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

was  the  signal  for  a  display  of  loyalty  as  enthusiastic  as  that 
which  had  greeted  the  exiled  Charles  in  '66. 

William,  to  whose  diplomacy  the  peace  was  owing,  as  the 
war  had  been  owing  to  his  indomitable  energy,  was  at  the  very 
zenith  of  his  reputation  at  home  and  abroad.  He  avoided  the 
pageants,  processions,  triumphal  arches,  and  general  laudations, 
both  from  a  natural  modesty  and  a  cynical  perception  of  their 
hollowness,  which  was  but  too  well  justified,  for  the  first  act  of 
the  Parliament  was  to  inflict  cruel  mortification  on  him  by 
disbanding,  at  the  instance  of  the  Tory  agitator,  Robert  Harley, 
the  army  which  had  done  such  magnificent  service.  Sunderland's 
utmost  arts  could  only  retain  ten  thousand  men,  including  the 
King's  beloved  Dutch  Guards. 

This  action  was,  to  William,  the  worst  of  policy,  besides  a 
personal  slight  that  he  could  not  but  feel  that  he  had  ill  deserved. 
The  peace  was  to  him  but  an  armed  truce  before  the  inevitable 
struggle  for  the  Spanish  possessions,  and  the  part  that  he  was  to 
play  in  that  struggle  was  considerably  weakened  by  the  disbanding 
of  the  troops  which  made  England,  save  for  her  Navy,  powerless 
again  in  Europe. 

The  English  Parliament,  profoundly  ignorant  of  continental 
affairs,  and  not  in  the  least  understanding  the  spacious  policy  of 
the  King,  thought  only  of  the  power  a  standing  army  put  in  the 
hands  of  the  Crown,  and  were  not  to  be  moved  from  their  resolve. 

William,  driven  back,  as  he  had  so  often  been,  on  his  own 
innate  statesmanship,  endeavoured  to  accomplish  by  wit  what  he 
was  now  powerless  to  accomplish  by  arms,  and  secretly  framed 
with  Louis  the  Partition  Treaty,  by  which  the  vast  dominions  of 
the  imbecile  and  dying  King  of  Spain  were  to  be  divided  between 
Louis'  grandson  Phillippe  d'Anjou,  and  William's  candidate,  the 
infant  son  of  the  Elector  of  Bavaria,  who  derived  his  claim 
through  his  dead  mother,  Maria  Anton  ia. 

The  King  had  disdained  to  consult  the  English  ministers  until 
he  had  completed  this  treaty,  and  then  only  curtly  demanded  the 
necessary  signatures ;  from  the  nation  it  was  a  profound  secret. 

Sunderland  disapproved  of  this  daring  policy  of  the  King. 
He  thought  that  many  of  the  domestic  troubles  of  the  reign 
might  have  been  avoided  if  William  had  been  less  resolute  to 
keep  foreign  affairs  entirely  in  his  own  hands,  but  the  King's 


PEACE  327 

well-founded  distrust  of  the  levity,  treachery,  and  ignorance  of 
the  English,  and  their  personal  malice  towards  him  as  a 
foreigner,  could  not  be  moved  by  the  most  specious  of  Sunder- 
land's  arguments.  William  refused  to  put  any  faith  in  the 
crowds  who  shouted  after  his  coach,  in  the  ringing  and  the 
toasts,  in  the  bales  of  loyal  addresses  that  were  laid  daily  at  his  feet. 
He  knew  perfectly  well  that  at  bottom  he  was  neither  understood 
nor  liked,  and  that  all  this  rejoicing  was  not  for  the  King,  but 
because  a  peace,  pleasing  to  English  pride,  had  been  signed; 
because  bank  stock  had  risen  from  sixty  to  ninety,  paper  money 
to  par,  the  guinea  from  eighteen  shillings  to  twenty-one ;  because 
the  new  milled  coins  were  in  every  hand  and  an  era  of  prosperity 
was  following  the  crisis  of  '96. 

Sunderland  watched  all  these  things  with  some  misgiving. 
Under  all  his  honours  and  greatness  was  a  lurking  uneasiness. 
He  began  to  lose  his  courage  at  being  so  hated ;  hints  of  im- 
peachment had  risen  in  the  House  more  than  once ;  he  could 
scarcely  show  his  face  abroad  without  a  burst  of  popular  fury. 
In  the  opinion  of  the  people  he  should  not  have  been  intrusted 
with  one  of  the  highest  offices  under  the  Crown,  but  have  been 
starving  in  exile,  or  dead,  long  since  in  the  Tower,  like  his  colleague 
under  James — Lord  Jefferies.  The  ministers,  too,  could  ill  dis- 
guise their  dislike  of  him.  He  had  befriended  the  Whigs,  and 
they  owed  him  a  cold  allegiance,  but  he  had  no  real  supporter 
save  the  King,  whose  will  alone  kept  him  where  he  was ;  and  he 
had  more  enemies  than  he  could  count,  including  Portland,  who 
hated  him  exceedingly. 

When  the  King  had  created  Joost  van  Keppel  Earl  of  Albe- 
marle,  Portland  had  offered  to  resign  his  post  and  retire,  and 
only  by  the  intercession  of  M.  de  Vaudemont  and  the  passionate 
entreaties  of  his  one  flatterer,  the  King,  had  he  been  induced  to 
stay  another  year,  which  was  employed  in  the  gorgeous  embassy 
to  France  from  which  he  had  just  returned,  to  find  Sunderland  all- 
powerful  and  Albemarle  in  full  possession  of  the  King's  confidence. 

Sunderland  saw  that  his  temper  was  strained  to  the  utmost, 
and  that  affairs  in  the  King's  household  must  soon  reach  a 
crisis.  Although  he  used  Albemarle  as  a  balance  against  a  man 
who  hated  him,  Sunderland  had  no  ill-will  towards  Portland,  and 
wished  to  spare  the  King  the  agony  he  knew  he  would  feel  on 


328  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

the  earl's  retirement.  He  would  have  wished  Shrewsbury  to  stay 
too — the  King  liked  the  young  duke — but  here,  as  in  Portland's 
case,  Sunderland  felt  matters  had  gone  too  far. 

He  was  waiting  now,  in  the  King's  gallery  at  Kensington,  to 
intercept  and  argue  with  Shrewsbury,  whom  he  knew  was  about 
to  have  an  interview  with  William,  and  with  the  object,  he 
suspected,  of  insisting  on  his  often  refused  resignation. 

He  came  at  last,  after  his  time  and  slowly,  with  a  languid 
carriage  and  an  unsteady  step  that  expressed  great  wretchedness. 
Sunderland  moved  out  of  the  embrasure  of  the  window ;  Shrews- 
bury paused;  and  the  two  noblemen,  alike  only  in  birth  and 
country,  so  totally  different  in  character,  intellect,  and  aim,  yet 
both  in  the  same  service,  faced  one  another. 

Shrewsbury  looked  ill,  miserable,  even  slightly  dishevelled, 
his  dark  clothes  were  careless  and  plain,  the  beauty  that  had 
once  made  him  famous  as  "  The  King  of  Hearts  "  was  scarcely 
to  be  traced  in  his  strained  features,  though  he  was  not  yet  past 
his  first  youth.  In  contrast,  Sunderland,  though  worn  and  frail, 
looked  less  than  his  years,  and  was  habited  very  fashionably  and 
gorgeously  in  black  tissue  of  gold  with  diamond  buttons,  his 
peruke  was  frizzled  and  powdered,  and  he  wore  a  bow  of  black 
velvet  beneath  his  chin;  his  handsome,  delicate  features  wore 
that  expression  of  watchful,  smiling  repose  which  was  so  seldom 
from  his  face  that  it  had  come  to  be  one  with  it,  like  the  faint 
chiselling  on  an  alabaster  bust. 

Shrewsbury  showed  some  agitated  emotion  as  the  Lord 
Chamberlain  stepped  before  him. 

"  I  am  due  with  His  Majesty,"  he  said. 

"I  know,"  answered  the  earl;  "and  I  think  I  guess  your 
business  with  the  King." 

Shrewsbury  paled  and  said  nothing ;  a  defiant  look  hardened 
his  eyes. 

"You,"  continued  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  "are  going,  my 
lord,  to  force  your  resignation  on  His  Majesty." 

"  Well — if  I  am  ?  "    Shrewsbury  moistened  his  lips  desperately. 

"  It  is,  your  Grace,  a  most  ill-advised  thing  to  do." 

"  I  have  heard  many  people  say  that,  my  lord,"  answered  the 
young  duke,  "and  I  have  allowed  myself  to  be  too  long  per- 
suaded. I  cannot  and  I  will  not  stay  at  Court." 


PEACE  329 

Sunderland  gazed  at  him  steadily  out  of  his  long,  clear  eyes. 

"  You  only  give  colour  to  the  disclosures  of  Sir  John  Fenwick, 
which  every  one  disbelieved.  And  no  one  more  strongly  than 
His  Majesty." 

"I  bear  the  taint — the  imputation,"  muttered  Shrewsbury. 
"  I  cannot  and  will  not  endure  it.  My  position  is  insupportable." 

"  Marlborough  and  Russell  are  in  the  same  position,  and  find 
it  easy  enough  to  bear,"  said  Sunderland  quietly. 

The  Duke  answered  with  some  pride — 

"I  am  not  such  as  they.  They  act  from  their  standards — I 
from  mine." 

He  thought,  and  might  have  added,  that  he  was  not  such  as 
the  man  to  whom  he  spoke.  Sunderland  was  stained  with 
treacheries,  disloyalties,  corrupt  practices,  and  shameless  false- 
dealing,  the  very  least  of  which  was  more  than  the  one  lapse 
that  was  wearing  Shrewsbury  to  misery  with  remorse. 

The  Earl  took  another  tone. 

"  Think  of  the  King.  You  call  yourself  friend  to  him ;  he  is 
as  harassed  now  as  he  ever  was  before  the  war.  He  hath  not 
too  many  men  to  help  him — the  Tories  grow  in  strength  every 
day.  You  have  been  of  great  service  to  His  Majesty — the  greatest 
in  '88.  Will  you  forsake  him  now — when  he  needeth  you  most  ?  " 

Shrewsbury  put  out  a  trembling  hand. 

"  I  have  heard  these  arguments  before.  Lady  Orkney  hath 
been  soliciting  me  to  change  my  resolution — for  the  same  reason 
that  you  bring  forth.  But  I  am  a  broken  man ;  I  am  ill ;  I  must 
get  to  the  country ;  I  cannot  serve  His  Majesty " 

So  speaking,  in  rapid,  disconnected  sentences,  he  gave  a  wild 
glance  at  the  Earl's  passive  face,  the  fine  lines  of  which  had  taken 
on  an  almost  imperceptible  expression  of  contempt  and  disgust, 
and  passed  on  to  the  King's  cabinet,  which  he  entered  abruptly. 

The  King  was,  as  usual,  at  his  desk,  which  was  placed  between 
the  tall  windows  which  looked  on  to  the  beautiful  park,  now  grey 
and  desolate  under  the  afternoon  sky  of  mid-November. 

A  great  fire  burnt  on  the  hearth,  and  the  glancing  light  from 
it  threw  into  relief  the  furnishing  of  the  room,  every  article  of 
which  bore  evidence  to  the  exile's  wistful  love  of  his  own  country. 
On  the  mantelshelf  were  the  tall  yellow,  white,  and  blue  vases 
from  Delft ;  the  brass  fire-irons  were  Dutch,  as  were  the  painted 


330  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

tiles,  the  black,  heavily  polished  chairs  and  tables ;  the  exquisite 
paintings  of  peaches,  carnations,  grapes,  and  butterflies  on  the 
wall ;  and  the  elaborate  china  calendar  above  the  King's  desk. 
William  was  always  consistently  loyal  to  the  products  of  his  own 
land ;  his  full  cravat,  shirt,  and  wrist-ruffles  were  now,  as  generally, 
of  the  fine  Frisian  lawn  embroidery,  and  the  buttons  of  his  black 
silk  coat  were  of  the  wonderful  filigree  gold-work  for  which  the 
States  were  famous. 

He  looked  up  sharply  as  Shrewsbury  entered,  and  seemed  a 
little  disappointed,  as  if  he  had  been  expecting  some  one  else; 
but  instantly  commanded  himself,  and  greeted  the  Duke 
affectionately. 

Shrewsbury  looked  at  him  wretchedly,  crossed  to  the  hearth 
irresolutely,  then  burst  out  impetuously — 

"  Sire — I  must  resign — I  can  take  your  wage  no  longer " 

The  King's  full  bright  eyes  swept  over  him  in  a  quick  glance 
of  understanding. 

"  I  have  told  you,"  he  said,  with  a  gentleness  that  had  a  note 
of  pity  in  it,  "that  I  hold  you  innocent  of  those  scandalous 
slanders  that  villain  Fenwick  flung.  I  have  assured  you,  my  lord, 
of  my  affection,  of  my  need  and  wish  for  your  service." 

Shrewsbury  bit  his  lower  lip,  and  stared  blindly  into  the  scarlet 
heart  of  the  fire. 

"  My  health  will  not  permit  me "  he  began. 

"  Ah,  tush ! "  interrupted  the  King,  with  a  little  smile. 
"  Your  health  is  good  enough." 

Compared  to  his  own,  it  was  indeed.  Shrewsbury  could  not, 
for  very  shame,  argue  that  plea. 

"I  think  you  have  another  reason,  your  Grace,"  added 
William,  kindly  and  a  little  sadly.  "  And  I  am  an  old  enough 
friend  for  you  to  confide  in  me " 

Still  the  Duke  could  not  speak,  but  trembled  and  looked  into 
the  fire. 

"You  are  a  man  of  honour,"  said  the  King.  "I  did  and 
do  trust  you.  I  shall  never  forget  the  services  you  rendered  me, 
when  such  services  were  vital  indeed ;  I  believe  I  do  not  lack 
gratitude ;  I  should  never — I  could  never — desert  a  friend." 

He  exerted  himself  to  speak  with  courtesy  and  animation, 
and  there  was  real  feeling  behind  his  words ;  gratitude  was  in- 


PEACE  331 

deed  almost  a  fault  with  him.  Cold  as  he  appeared  to  outsiders, 
nothing  could  turn  him  when  he  had  once  given  his  affection ; 
he  had  often,  at  the  expense  of  his  own  interests  and  popularity, 
defended  and  upheld  those  who  had  once  helped  him. 

Shrewsbury  clasped  the  edge  of  the  chimneypiece  and  tried 
to  speak,  but  made  only  some  incoherent  sound. 

"  Let  me  hear  no  more  of  resignation,  my  lord,"  said  William. 

The  Duke  turned  and  looked  at  him  desperately,  then 
suddenly  and  utterly  broke  down. 

"  I  am  guilty,  sire ! "  he  cried.  "  I  betrayed  you,  and  you 
know  it ! " 

He  fell  into  the  chair  beside  him,  and  covered  his  white  face 
with  his  quivering  hands. 

"Your  generosity  is  more  than  I  can  endure,"  he  gasped. 
"  I  have  been  a  villain,  and  I  have  a  bitter  punishment ! " 

The  King  rose  and  looked  at  his  minister.  A  heavy  silence 
hung  in  the  brilliantly  firelit  little  chamber.  The  Duke  was 
sobbing  wretchedly. 

William  went  slightly  pale. 

"Fenwick  spoke  the  truth,"  cried  Shrewsbury;  "I  have 
tampered  with  St.  Germains " 

The  King  crossed  over  to  the  young  man,  and  laid  his  thin, 
beautiful  hand  on  the  bowed  shoulders. 

"You  are  my  friend,"  he  said  simply.  "I  trust  you  and 
wish  to  keep  you  with  me.  Nothing  else,  my  dear  lord,  is  of  any 
matter." 

Shrewsbury's  answer  came  hoarsely. 

"  It  is  of  great  matter  to  me  that  I  have  lost  my  honour " 

The  King  answered  gently. 

"While  you  say  that,  my  lord  Duke,  you  can  have  lost 
nothing " 

Shrewsbury  would  not  speak  or  look  up.  William  returned 
to  his  seat  at  the  desk,  and  began  turning  over  the  papers  before 
him.  After  a  few  minutes  he  said,  with  his  eyes  still  on  his  letters — 

"  I  have  heard  nothing — I  know  nothing — I  trust  you  to 
continue  in  my  service,  my  dear  lord " 

The  Duke  sprang  up  and  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire. 

"I  cannot — I  am  not  fit,"  he  said  desperately,  yet  with 
resolution. 


332  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

William  flashed  a  glance  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Will  you  not  serve  England,  then  ?  "  he  cried,  with  a  deep 
note  in  his  voice,  and  waited  for  the  answer,  gazing  brilliantly 
at  the  haggard  young  man. 

"No — no,"  muttered  Shrewsbury.  "I  am  broken — I  am 
not  fit " 

There  was  a  little  silence.  It  was  the  King  who  spoke 
first. 

"I  can  say  no  more,"  he  said  quietly.  "You  have  decided. 
I  trust  that  you  will  justify  your  resolution  to  yourself." 

The  Duke  came  heavily  to  the  desk,  laid  the  seals  that  were 
the  symbol  of  his  office  on  the  desk,  and  was  turning  silently 
away,  when  the  King  held  out  his  hand  impulsively. 

"  My  lord,"  he  said,  with  much  warmth  and  kindness,  "even 
if  I  should  never  see  you  again — I  should  never  forget  '88." 

Shrewsbury  seized  the  frail  hand,  kissed  it  with  tears,  and 
went  violently  from  the  room. 

William  gave  a  little  sigh,  pushed  back  his  chair,  and  put  his 
hand  to  his  head,  coughing. 

He  was  not  long  alone.  Sunderland  entered  the  little  cabinet 
with  his  cautious  light  step  and  an  expression  that  had  slightly 
lost  its  usual  composure. 

"The  little  Duke  hath  resigned,"  said  the  King  laconically. 

A  rare  ejaculation  of  impatience  and  contempt  broke  from 
the  Lord  Chamberlain.  "  Every  one  falleth  away ! "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  There  goeth  the  last  link  with  the  Whigs ! " 

William  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"  I  suppose  that  you  will  be  the  next,  my  lord  ?  "  he  said 
shrewdly. 

The  Earl  went  rather  pale. 

"I  will  hold  office  as  long  as  I  can,  Your  Majesty,"  he 
answered.  "  But  it  is  a  hard  thing  to  maintain  my  position  in 
the  face  of  all  England.  But  whether  I  am  in  office  or  no,  I 
shall,  sir,  always  serve  you." 

The  King  lifted  his  dark  eyes. 

"  I  believe  you  will,  my  lord,"  he  said  simply ;  "  we  are  old 
allies  now.  Well — we  have  not  either  of  us  much  more  to  do — 
the  people  have  their  peace,  and  we  have  our  positions,  and  may 
grow  roses,  and  build  villas,  and  wait  for  death." 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  BROKEN  FRIENDSHIP 

THE  Earl  of  Portland,  newly  returned  from  his  gorgeous 
embassy  to  France,  sat  in  his  apartments  at  Kensington 
reading  and  re-reading  a  letter. 

It  was  written  in  a  large  and  flowing  hand,  unequal  in  parts, 
as  if  the  writer  had  been  greatly  agitated.  The  contents,  which 
the  Earl  had  now  almost  by  heart,  were  strange  and  sad. 

"  KENSINGTON,  April  1699. 

"  Since  I  cannot  dispute  with  you,  I  will  say  nothing  to  you 
on  the  subject  of  your  retirement;  but  I  cannot  refrain  from 
telling  you  of  my  extreme  sorrow,  which  is  far  deeper  than  you 
can  ever  imagine,  and  assures  me  that  if  you  felt  even  the  half 
you  would  very  quickly  change  your  resolution — which  may  it 
please  the  good  God  to  inspire  you  to  do  for  your  own  good 
and  my  repose.  At  least  I  hope  that  you  will  not  refuse  to  keep 
the  key  of  office,  for  I  am  content  that  it  should  not  oblige  you 
to  anything,  and,  besides,  I  entreat  you  to  let  me  see  you  as 
often  as  you  can,  which  would  be  a  great  consolation  to  me  in  the 
affliction  which  you  have  caused  me,  which  cannot  prevent  me 
from  loving  you  ever  tenderly." 

It  was  written  in  French  and  signed  with  the  letter  'G,' 
which  had  always  been  affixed  to  this  long,  intimate  correspond- 
ence which  had  continued  now  for  thirty-three  years — since  they 
had  been  children — continued  through  war  and  peace,  trouble, 
disaster,  illness,  bereavement,  disappointment  without  cloud  or 
shadow — and  this  was  the  end. 

William  Bentinck  had  resolved  to  resign  the  King's  service. 

This  was  the  end — in  miserable,  trivial  jealousy.  The 
friendship  that  had  lasted  so  long,  keen  and  pure,  so  devoted, 

333 


334  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

had  strained  and  broken.  Portland  sat,  with  this  sad  appeal  in 
his  hand,  and  knew  that  it  was  over. 

He  did  not  acknowledge  that  he  was  unreasonable ;  he  had 
served  William  faithfully  and  devotedly,  both  as  friend  and  ser- 
vant, and  he  had  been  greatly  rewarded;  he  was  one  of  the 
wealthiest  subjects  in  Europe  ;  he  had  an  English  earldom,  and 
the  Garter  that  foreign  kings  envied ;  he  was  Gentleman  of  the 
Bedchamber,  Privy  Councillor,  Groom  of  the  Stole,  and  Keeper 
of  the  King's  Gardens ;  the  King  had  supported  him  again  and 
again  against  the  Commons,  taken  his  advice,  flattered  him  by 
an  open  display  of  his  friendship,  entrusted  him  with  the  im- 
portant embassy  to  France,  enriched  his  son,  and,  when  the 
breach  began  to  grow,  spared  nothing  to  heal  it.  Few  kings  could 
have  ever  entreated  a  subject  as  William  had  entreated  Bentinck. 

But  he  would  not  dismiss  Albemarle ;  he  listened  to  Sunder- 
land ;  and  everything  was  nothing  to  Portland  compared  to  the 
fact  that  he  should  have  to  share  the  King's  confidence  with  this 
young,  untried,  light-hearted  young  man. 

When  he  returned  from  Paris  he  had  found  Albemarle  in 
possession  of  rooms  in  the  Palace  that  he  considered  belonged 
to  him  in  virtue  of  one  of  his  offices,  and  the  little  incident  had 
confirmed  his  resolution  of  quitting  the  Court.  He  would  be 
second  to  no  one,  least  of  all  to  a  man  whom  he  considered  as 
the  tool  of  a  faction  that  he  loathed  and  despised. 

He  was  well  aware  that  Albemarle  was  popular,  and  that  he 
was  not;  that  he  had  few  supporters  in  his  point  of  view,  and 
that  Albemarle  had  a  great  following  gained  by  his  universal 
sweetness,  good  sense,  and  humility. 

He  was  well  aware,  too,  that  the  King  had  never  more 
needed  his  friendship  than  now;  for  the  present  session  of 
Parliament  had  inflicted  one  cruel  humiliation  on  him,  and  was 
about  to  inflict  another. 

The  King's  grants  of  lands  in  Ireland  had  been  looked  into 
and  revoked — even  such  as  he  had  given  to  the  noble  Ginckel, 
who  had  done  such  service,  and  Meinhard  de  Schomberg,  son  of 
the  soldier  who  had  died  for  England  on  the  banks  of  Boyne 
Water. 

William,  who  had  disappointed  his  enemies  by  preserving  a 
serene  composure  when  he  had  been  forced  to  consent  to  the 


THE  BROKEN  FRIENDSHIP  335 

disbanding  of  the  troops,  had  scarcely  been  able  to  conceal  his 
mortification  at  this  malice  on  the  part  of  the  Tories,  and  was 
still  further  moved  by  the  agitation  rising  in  the  Commons  to 
turn  all  foreign  soldiers  out  of  the  kingdom,  including  the 
famous  Dutch  Guards  and  the  refugee  French  Huguenots  whom 
William  had  long  had  in  his  service. 

But  none  of  this  shook  William  Bentinck's  stern  resolution  to 
leave  the  Court. 

He  folded  the  letter,  put  it  into  his  pocket,  glanced  at  the 
brass  bracket-clock  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  and  went,  for  the 
last  time,  to  accompany  the  King  on  his  way  to  the  Cabinet 
meeting  at  Whitehall,  which  William  had  summoned  with  the 
desperate  intention  of  urging  his  ministers  to  try  some  expedient 
with  the  Parliament  to  enable  him  to  keep  the  Dutch  Guards. 

Portland  descended  heavily  into  the  courtyard  where  the 
coaches  waited. 

It  was  a  sunny  afternoon,  and  half  the  soft-coloured  brick  of 
the  Palace  was  in  a  tender  light.  Some  pigeons  were  gathered 
round  the  clock,  which  was  on  the  point  of  striking  four. 

Monsieur  Zuylestein  was  there,  Sunderland,  Devonshire,  and 
Monsieur  Auverquerque.  Portland  kept  apart  from  all  of  them, 
and  drew  the  point  of  his  cane  up  and  down  the  cobbles ;  his 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  door  which  led  to  the  staircase  to  the 
King's  apartments. 

As  the  clock  struck  the  hour  William  appeared  in  this  door- 
way, and  paused  at  the  head  of  the  steps  and  looked  round  the 
courtyard  with  narrowed  eyes. 

He  wore  black  and  a  star,  his  hollow  cheeks  were  flushed — 
unusual  for  him — and  he  was  breathing  with  obvious  difficulty. 

He  saw  Portland,  and  his  whole  face  changed ;  he  smiled, 
and  his  eyes  widened  with  an  indescribable  look. 

Portland  met  that  glance,  and  a  quick  pang  gripped  his 
heart ;  he  remembered  days  of  long  ago,  in  camp  and  cabinet,  a 
frail  young  man  facing  the  French  outside  Utrecht,  speaking  to 
the  Senate  at  The  Hague,  firing  the  people,  encouraging  a  faint- 
ing country,  leading  the  mad  charge  at  St.  Neff,  fainting  over 
his  work  during  tedious  days  and  nights.  .  .  . 

Portland  made  a  step  forward ;  then  he  saw,  behind  the  King, 
the  ardent,  youthful  face  of  my  Lord  Albemarle,  and  he  fell  back. 


336  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

William  slowly  descended  the  steps.  The  lackeys  opened 
the  coach  door,  and  the  gentlemen  came  round. 

The  King  looked  to  Portland,  who  still  stood  apart. 

"Will  you  accompany  me,  my  lord?"  he  said  gently. 

The  seat  in  his  coach  was  an  honour  to  which  his  brother-in- 
law,  Prince  George,  had  aspired  in  vain.  Of  late  Portland  had 
frequently  refused  it,  and  in  terms  so  curt  as  to  excite  the  horror 
of  those  who  heard.  Now  the  King  was  making  a  last  appeal — 
his  brilliant  eyes,  his  moved  voice  were  reminding  William 
Bentinck  of  his  letter  and  of  the  long  friendship  of  which  the 
'  G '  that  signed  it  was  a  symbol. 

There  fell  the  slightest  pause ;  then  Portland  answered  with 
a  harshness  that  would  have  been  discourteous  to  an  equal — 

"  I  pray  you  excuse  me.     I  keep  my  own  company  to-day." 

At  this,  which  was  little  less  than  a  public  insult,  the  King 
flushed  a  dark  red,  and  those  about  him  knew  not  where  to  look. 

"  My  Lord  Sunderland,"  commanded  William,  "  you  will 
accompany  us." 

He  entered  the  coach,  the  Lord  Chamberlain  followed,  and 
Portland,  very  white  but  unshaken,  mounted  his  own  vehicle. 

The  Royal  coach  started.  Sunderland  said  not  a  word  and 
made  not  a  movement,  but  sat  erect,  opposite  the  King,  as  they 
drove  out  under  the  early  budding  trees. 

William  broke  out  into  a  sudden,  deep  passion. 

"Is  this  the  Prince  of  Orange" — he  cried,  striking  his 
breast — "  who  was  something  in  Europe  ?  Is  this  he,  the  sport  of 
such  as  Harley,  and  insulted  by  those  who  loved  him  once  ?  " 

"  My  lord  must  be  out  of  his  wits,"  replied  Sunderland.  "  I 
could  have  struck  him." 

"This  is  too  much — this  is  indeed  the  end,"  said  the  King. 
"  He  leaves  the  Court.  By  God,  I  was  Nassau  once,  if  I  am 
only  King  of  England  now  ! " 

"He  must  still   love  Your   Majesty "  urged  the  Lord 

Chamberlain. 

"  Love  !  "  echoed  William.  "  Doth  love  inspire  such  cruelty  ?  " 
His  speech  was  broken  by  a  violent  fit  of  coughing,  which  caused 
the  tears  to  run  down  his  face.  Sunderland  looked  at  him  in 
weary  despair,  and  wondered  if  he  could  survive  his  present 
griefs. 


THE  BROKEN   FRIENDSHIP  337 

"The  Guards,"  gasped  the  King,  leaning  back  in  his 
corner — "  I  must  keep  those  Guards — and  the  French  for  whom 

I  promised  to  provide — Ginckle  and  Schomberg  too "  His 

hoarse  voice  became  incoherent,  he  pressed  his  handkerchief 
to  his  lips  and  stared  out  at  the  groves  of  Kensington  Park  with 
hunted  eyes. 

"  We  will  do  all  we  may,  sire,"  replied  Sunderland  ;  but  he 
felt  not  half  the  conviction  he  endeavoured  to  put  into  his 
voice.  The  party  in  power  now  hated  the  King  and  hated  the 
Dutch ;  they  were  not  likely  to  be  merciful  in  their  triumph. 

Sunderland  could  not  understand  this  blind  fury  against  the 
foreigner.  It  might  have  been  thought  that  two  nations,  both 
manly  and  given  to  a  plain  religion,  both  engaged  in  trade  and 
eager  for  liberty,  could  have  had  much  in  common,  especially 
when  only  divided  by  a  strip  of  narrow  sea,  and  considering  that 
there  was  no  rancour  of  ancient  dispute  between  them.  But  at 
the  bottom  of  each  was  a  fatal  difference — a  levity,  an  ex- 
travagance, and  a  narrow  arrogance  in  the  English ;  a  prudence, 
a  seriousness,  a  reserve  in  the  Dutch — that  prevented  any  real 
friendliness  despite  the  specious  complexion  of  a  common  cause, 
and  had  been  gradually  fanned  by  jealousy  and  party  spirit  into 
an  obstinate  temper,  against  which  the  arts  of  Sunderland  were 
of  no  avail. 

"  They  must  not  go,"  repeated  the  King  in  great  agitation ; 
"  if  they  do,  I  go  with  them — I  have  told  Somers  so.  I  am  a 
foreigner  also."  He  paused;  then  added,  with  intense  feeling, 
"  I  have  been  too  great  to  become  the  pensioner  of  a  handful  of 
commoners,  the  butt  of  your  Harleys  and  Jack  Howes.  ...  I 
will  not  take  this  humiliation." 

"Your  Majesty  must  think  of  the  United  Provinces,"  said 
Sunderland.  "If  you  were  to  resign  the  crown,  what  of  the 
English  alliance?" 

This  simple  question  had  more  weight  with  William  than 
all  the  protestations  of  Lord  Somers.  He  went  very  pale,  and 
half  closed  his  eyes.  In  the  inevitable,  in  the  nearing  contention 
over  the  Spanish  succession,  the  dear  bought  alliance  of  England 
would  be  more  necessary  than  ever  to  the  Republic;  but  the 
King's  imperious  pride,  so  long  controlled,  outweighed  almost 
his  deep  love  of  his  country. 

22 


338  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"  Let  Anne  and  Marlborough  rule  you,"  he  said,  in  a  low, 
passionate  voice.  "  A  fool  and  a  villain  would  maybe  please  you 
better.  If  my  soldiers  go  I  cannot  in  honour  stay." 

"  You  must,  sire,"  answered  Sunderland.  He  looked  out  of 
the  coach  window  at  the  white,  dusty  sweep  of  Kensington  High 
Street,  the  cottages  with  the  early  flowers  before  them  and  the 
orchard  trees  covered  with  their  first  green.  "  Your  Majesty  must 
remain,"  repeated  Sunderland  heavily.  "  England  needeth  you." 

William  gave  a  cynical  laugh. 

"  England  hath  had  some  work  out  of  me — I  have  laboured 
for  my  pay.  I  am  not  a  young  man  now,  and  old  for  my  years. 
I  should  wish  to  die  in  Holland." 

The  Earl  looked  quickly  at  his  master. 

"  Sire,  you  must  not  speak  of  death." 

"  I  am  a  dying  man,"  said  the  King  quietly.  "  A  few  months 
— no  more,  I  think." 

Sunderland  could  not  gainsay  him.  In  his  own  heart  he  felt 
a  curous  chill  of  apathy,  as  if  it  was  nearing  the  end ;  the  very 
sunshine  without,  falling  so  placidly  on  thatch  and  flowering  tree, 
looked  strangely  remote.  It  seemed  a  long  time  to  Robert 
Spencer  since  he  had  been  at  leisure  to  notice  the  mysterious 
light  of  spring.  He  laughed  also,  but  with  a  softer  note  than 
the  King  had  used. 

"  Rest  is  good  after  labour,"  he  said  irrelevantly. 

William  was  also  looking  out  of  the  window  at  fields  and 
clouds. 

"God  alone  knoweth  if  I  am  damned  or  saved, "he remarked 
strongly ;  "  but  I  have  done  His  will  as  it  was  revealed  to  me." 

Sunderland  glanced  at  the  Calvinist,  who  in  those  words  had 
declared  his  religion.  His  own  creeds  were  very  different ;  but  both 
men,  now  at  the  end,  found  themselves  on  much  the  same  level. 

Neither  spoke  again  till  they  reached  the  courtyard  of  White- 
hall, when  the  King  remarked,  with  an  air  of  disgust,  on  the  fog 
of  smoke  that  overhung  the  city. 

As  he  dismounted  from  the  coach  he  paused  and  glanced 
round  the  gentlemen ;  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  ignored  my 
Lord  Portland,  but,  with  a  delicacy  that  Sunderland  was  quick 
to  notice,  he  equally  ignored  Albemarle,  and  passed  into  the 
palace  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Monsieur  Zuylestein. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  KING'S   HUMILIATION 

EVERYTHING  had  been  in  vain.  Harley  pressed  his 
narrow  triumph,  and  the  King,  after  a  bitter  struggle, 
consented  to  let  the  Dutch  soldiers  go  and  to  retain  the  king- 
ship, though  he  had  drawn  up  a  passionate  farewell  speech  to 
the  ungrateful  parliament,  and  shown  it  to  Somers,  Sunder- 
land,  and  Marlborough,  now  the  governor  of  the  little  Duke  of 
Gloucester,  the  heir  to  the  throne. 

It  was  my  Lord  Chamberlain,  fast  feeling  himself  falling 
before  the  wolves  of  faction,  who  urged  the  King  to  sacrifice 
even  this  to  those  great  designs  to  which  he  had  given  his  life — 
it  was  Sunderland  who  put  the  needs  of  Republic  before  him  as 
he  had  after  the  Queen's  death;  and  William  had  again  re- 
sponded, even  out  of  the  depths  of  agony. 

But  as  the  day  approached  for  the  departure  of  those  Guards 
who  had  been  with  him  since  he  had  first  marched  out  of  The 
Hague  against  the  French,  whom  he  had  led  again  and  again  in 
battle,  who  kept  watch  every  night  while  he  slept,  who  were 
devoted  to  him — not  as  the  King  of  England,  but  as  William  of 
Orange — as  the  time  drew  near  for  him  to  say  farewell  to  his 
friend  de  Ginckle  and  Monsieur  de  Schomberg,  as  he  received 
daily  the  petitions  of  the  poor  French  who  had  fought  for  him 
loyally,  and  to  whom  he  had  promised  his  protection,  his  spirit 
gave  way.  He  made  the  last  sacrifice  of  his  pride,  and  he  who 
had  dealt  haughtily  with  kings  wrote  a  request  in  his  own  hand 
humbly  asking  the  Parliament,  as  a  personal  favour  to  himself,  to 
allow  him  to  retain  the  Dutch  Guards. 

He  sent  the  message  down  to  the  House  by  Lord  Ranelagh, 
his  Master  of  the  Horse  j  and  now,  in  his  little  cabinet  at 


340  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

Kensington  that  had  seen  so  many  vigils  of  toil  and  sorrow, 
awaited  the  answer  of  the  Commons. 

Before  him  lay  the  draft  of  the  message  he  had  sent — 

"His  Majesty  is  pleased  to  let  the  House  know  that  the 
necessary  preparations  are  made  for  transporting  the  Guards 
who  came  with  him  into  England,  unless,  out  of  consideration 
to  him,  the  House  is  disposed  to  find  some  way  of  continuing 
them  longer  in  his  service,  which  His  Majesty  would  take  very 
kindly." 

To  this  humility  had  William  of  Orange  stooped ;  beneath 
this  paper  was  another,  half  hidden  by  it — the  farewell  speech 
he  had  drawn  up.  His  own  words  flashed  up  at  him  in  his  own 
impetuous  handwriting :  "  Feeling  that  you  have  so  little  regard 
to  my  advice,  that  you  take  no  manner  of  care  of  your  own 
security,  and  that  you  expose  yourselves  to  evident  ruin  by 
divesting  yourselves  of  the  only  means  of  defence,  it  would  not 
be  just  or  reasonable  that  I  should  be  witness  of  your  ruin." 

If  he  could  but  go  down  to  the  House  and  cast  that  at  them 
— leave  England,  and  die  peacefully  in  Holland ! 

But  Sunderland  was  right ;  he  must  endure  even  this  for  the 
sake  of  the  Republic — and  surely,  even  such  as  Harley  could 
not  refuse  his  personal  appeal. 

In  his  agitation  and  impatience  he  began  pacing  up  and 
down  the  narrow  room.  He  was  in  wretched  health  ;  night  after 
night  he  could  not  sleep  for  grief  and  mortification ;  his  head- 
aches, his  fainting-fits  were  frequent  and  terrible;  even  this 
gentle  walking  to  and  fro  soon  exhausted  him ;  he  sank  into  the 
window-seat  coughing  and  holding  his  side,  where  his  heart  was 
beating  with  a  dragging  pain. 

Soon  inaction  became  intolerable ;  he  rose,  nearly  struck 
the  bell  to  summon  M.  Zuylestein  or  M.  Auverquerque,  hesitated, 
did  not,  left  the  cabinet  and  his  own  apartments,  and  came  out 
into  the  sunny  quiet  galleries  of  the  palace. 

Deep  in  thought,  he  walked  slowly,  with  bent  head  and  his 
hands  clasped  behind  him  under  the  full  skirts  of  his  brocade 
coat,  when  a  sudden  sound  of  voices  caused  him  to  look  up. 

He  was  in  the  empty  antechamber  leading  to  the  King's 
gallery,  the  door  of  which  was  half  open;  it  was  from  behind 
it  that  the  voices  came ;  one  of  them,  very  clear,  serene,  and 


THE  KING'S   HUMILIATION  341 

beautiful  in  tone,  was  speaking  as  the  King  paused ;  the  words 
came  very  levelly  and  distinctly — 

"  He  actually  asked  it  as  a  favour,  you  say  ?  And  of  course 
they  will  refuse.  I  should  have  thought  that  the  little  upstart 
would  have  known  by  now  that  we  ain't  to  be  lorded  by 
foreigners." 

The  King  stepped  back  with  an  instinctive  shock,  as  if  he 
had  put  his  foot  on  a  sword.  He  knew  the  voice  to  be  that  of 
the  man  whom  he  most  despised  and  loathed — John  Churchill, 
my  Lord  of  Maryborough.  Though  he  was  very  well  aware  how 
he  was  traduced,  lampooned,  slandered,  and  abused  behind  his 
back,  he  had  never  heard  himself  referred  to  in  these  cool  terms 
of  contempt;  though  he  knew  these  things  were  said,  he  had 
never  actually  figured  what  it  would  be  to  overhear  them. 

The  blood  rushed  to  his  heart  and  lay  there  like  a  weight. 
He  was  of  a  family  that  had  given  an  Emperor  to  the  West  five 
hundred  years  ago,  and  John  Churchill  was  scarce  of  gentle 
blood  and  had  climbed  on  infamy.  The  King's  right  hand  crossed 
over  to  his  sword  hilt.  The  beautiful,  insolent  voice  began 
again.  William  instantly  pushed  open  the  door  and  entered  the 
long  gallery. 

At  once  silence  fell.  There  were  two  men,  Marlborough 
and  Torrington,  near  the  first  window,  and  a  small,  weary, 
anxious-eyed  and  forlorn-looking  child  seated  near  them  on  a 
purple  stool,  making  paper  boats. 

Torrington  went  scarlet  at  sight  of  the  King,  but  Marl- 
borough  swept  a  graceful  bow,  without  the  least  change  in  his 
composure.  William  looked  at  him  steadily.  He  could  have 
sent  him  to  the  block — not  once,  but  many  times,  yet  he  had 
spared  him  even  the  humiliation  of  a  pardon  in  affecting  to 
ignore  his  treasons.  It  was  curious  to  him  to  look  at  this  man 
— young,  splendid  in  towering  strength  and  opulent  beauty,  rich, 
prosperous,  advancing  from  power  to  power,  infamous,  heartless, 
conscienceless,  the  man  who  would  be  ruling  England  very  shortly 
now,  and  in  whose  hands  would  rest  the  completion  or  the  ruin 
of  the  task  to  which  he,  the  King,  had  given  his  life. 

Torrington,  fearful  lest  William  had  overheard,  made  some 
stumbling  remark  about  their  presence.  The  King  seated  him- 
self on  the  window-seat  and  coughed. 


342  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"  Ah  yes,  I  forgot  that  I  was  to  have  a  visit  from  His 
Highness,"  he  said.  He  looked  languidly  at  the  little  Duke  of 
Gloucester,  Anne's  sole  child  and  heir  of  England.  "  Come 
here,  sir,"  he  added  kindly,  "  and  tell  us  of  your  studies." 

The  child  came  obediently  and  stood  by  the  King's  knee, 
gazing  at  him  with  very  large  eyes  that  shone  as  if  they  had  a  light 
behind  them  and  were  themselves  of  crystal.  He  was  about  ten, 
remarkably  thin  and  as  pale  as  wax  to  his  very  lips,  which  were 
compressed  with  a  painful  expression  of  control ;  the  blue  veins 
showed  across  his  high  temples,  which  were  shaded  by  fine,  light 
auburn  hair.  He  wore  a  very  stiff  and  heavy  suit  of  crimson  and 
gold,  a  miniature  sword,  and  the  garter  under  his  knee.  My 
lord  his  governor  eyed  him  with  the  same  kind  of  interest  as  a 
trader  feels  towards  some  object  which,  indifferent  as  it  is  to 
himself,  he  yet  hopes  to  get  a  good  price  for. 

William  took  him  gently  by  the  shoulders  and  drew  him 
closer. 

"  What  are  they  teaching  you,  eh  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  child  answered  in  a  precise,  toneless  voice — 

"  I  am  progressing  very  well,  I  thank  Your  Majesty.  The 
dead  languages  and  mathematics,  history,  and  the  philosophy 
and  errors  of  the  ancients,  the  creation  of  the  world  and  the 
feudal  system ;  the  Gothic  Constitution  and  the  beneficiary  law 
are  among  my  next  subjects." 

"  Doth  Your  Highness  remember  all  these  grave  matters  ?  " 
asked  the  King,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  I  remember  very  well,  sir,  when  I  have  not  a  headache." 

"  What  gives  you  headache,  Highness  ?  " 

The  little  Duke  answered  gravely — 

"  If  it  were  not  blasphemy,  Your  Majesty,  I  should  say  that 
it  was  acquiring  religious  knowledge  and  listening  to  sermons ; 
but  Dr.  Burnet  says  that  is  a  temptation  of  the  devil  to  induce 
me  to  give  up  my  studies." 

"Dr.  Burnet  is  making  a  scholar  of  you,"  answered  William  ; 
"  but  you  are  to  be  a  king  and  a  soldier — do  not  forget  that." 

A  pale  colour  came  into  the  grave  little  face. 

"  Oh,  I  want  to  be  a  soldier.  I  like  the  riding-school ;  but 
things  you  like  are  of  the  devil,  Dr.  Burnet  saith."  He  looked 
anxiously  at  the  King,  as  if  hoping  for  a  contradiction. 


THE  KING'S  HUMILIATION  343 

"I  think  that  is  beyond  Dr.  Burnet  to  decide,"  replied 
William.  "  And  Your  Highness  must  not  let  any  one  speak  ill 
of  soldiers — there  is  nothing  better  for  a  man  to  be.  As  God 
hath  called  you  to  be  a  king  you  will  best  serve  Him  by  being 
what  you  feel  a  king  should  be — before  all,  a  brave  soldier." 

The  child  gave  a  short  sigh. 

"I  fear  it  is  a  very  difficult  thing  to  be  a  king,"  he  said 
anxiously. 

"  Perhaps  the  most  difficult  thing  in  the  world,"  answered 
William.  "  But  Your  Highness  will  reign  in  happier  times." 

"  Sometimes,"  continued  the  little  Duke,  frowning  painfully, 
"  when  my  head  aches  and  I  cannot  remember,  and  Dr.  Burnet 
is  angry  with  me,  and  I  feel  so  tired,  I  wish  I  did  not  have  to 
be  a  king — I  wish "  He  paused. 

"  What  ? "  asked  William  ;  he  put  his  fine  hand  delicately 
over  the  soft  hair. 

"That  I  was  in  heaven,"  said  the  child  simply. 

"  Already  ! "  cried  the  King.  He  went  very  white ;  he  had 
seen  a  sudden  look  of  Mary  in  Mary's  sister's  child. 

The  Duke  nodded. 

"  But  it  is  wicked  to  want  to  go  before  God  calls  you,"  he 
said,  quoting,  obviously,  his  worthy  tutor;  "and  being  tired  is 
a  temptation  of  the  devil." 

"A  strong  one,"  answered  the  King  shortly,  and  then  was 
silent ;  it  seemed  terrible  to  him  that  this  child  should  begin 
where  he  left  off,  in  utter  fatigue  and  despondency.  He  put 
his  arm  round  the  fragile  little  body. 

"  Highness,"  he  said,  "  I  will  give  you  a  troop  of  Horse, 
and  you  shall  drill  them  yourself,  and  you  shall  have  some 
hours  off  your  studies  for  it,  and  I  will  come  and  give  you 
lessons  in  soldiering." 

The  little  Duke's  face  flushed  and  changed  in  a  marvellous 
fashion;  he  caught  the  King's  free  hand  and  kissed  it 
passionately. 

"  But  Dr.  Burnet "  he  faltered  instantly. 

"God  doth  not  only  speak  through  Dr.  Burnet,"  replied 
William.  "Men  and  horses  are  more  than  paper  and  ink  for 
all  that  I  could  ever  see ;  ay,  and  dogs  and  swords  more  than 
Greek  and  Latin.  The  devil  is  as  likely  to  be  between  the 


344  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

pages  of  a  book  as  out  in  the  open,  with  the  animals  whom 
you  might  love  more  than  men,  so  faithful  they  are.  My 
lord ! "  he  called  to  Marlborough,  who  had  withdrawn  with 
Torrington,  and  the  magnificent  Earl  came  instantly,  with  his 
winning  air  of  deference.  "This  child  is  too  much  closeted," 
said  the  King.  "Look  to  it,  my  lord,  that  he  is  more  on 
horseback." 

"Dr.  .Burnet  findeth  him  an  apt  pupil,  sir,"  responded 
Marlborough,  with  the  serenity  and  courtesy  of  indifference. 
"  And  Her  Highness  is  very  satisfied." 

"  But  we  are  not,"  said  William  quietly.  "  It  is  our  intention 
to  give  His  Highness  a  troop  of  Horse."  Then  he  was  silent, 
for  he  recalled  in  a  flash  that  his  own  beloved  companions  in 
arms  might  be  taken  from  him  with  no  more  regard  than 
Marlborough  would  show  in  taking  wooden  toys  from  this 
child.  Perhaps  some  such  thought  was  in  my  lord's  mind; 
he  smiled  and  let  his  fine  eyes  rest  mildly  on  the  King. 

The  little  Duke  clung  to  the  voluminous  ruffles  on  the  King's 
breast ;  his  face  was  scarlet  with  excitement,  and  had  for  the 
moment  lost  its  premature  look  of  wisdom  and  anxiety. 

"When  you  next  go  to  Flanders  may  I  come  too?"  he 
whispered. 

"  Why,  this  is  peace,  Highness,"  smiled  William. 

"  But  there  will  be  war  again,  will  there  not,  sir  ?  " 

"  God  forbid,"  answered  the  King  solemnly,  "  for  we  have 
utterly  disarmed  ourselves." 

Seeing  him  so  suddenly  grave  the  Duke  was  silent,  and  the 
old  look  of  wonder  and  question  came  back  into  his  eyes. 

William  turned  to  him  again. 

"But  you  will  be  a  great  soldier  yet;  remember  me  in 
your  first  battle,  Highness." 

The  child  fondled  the  King's  star,  and  William,  with  exquisite 
tenderness,  lifted  his  long  smooth  curls  of  auburn  hair,  and 
passed  them  round  his  fingers. 

"  Stewart  locks,"  he  murmured,  and  his  voice  trembled  with 
the  thought  of  what  had  been,  what  might  have  been,  and  what 
could  now  never  be ;  and  another  ringlet  of  this  hued  hair  that 
lay  hidden  in  his  bosom  seemed  to  turn  into  a  dagger  that 
pierced  into  his  heart 


THE  KING'S  HUMILIATION  345 

With  a  great  effort  he  put  the  child  from  him  and  rose. 

"  Bring  His  Highness  to  see  us  soon,  my  lord,"  he  said  to 
Marlborough;  "and  see  he  learns  no  lackey's  tricks  such  as 
the  vulgar  one  of  speaking  scornfully  of  your  masters  in  your 
masters'  houses,  which  faults,  like  the  vile  treasons  of  mean 
men,  are  beneath  us  to  punish;  but  we  would  not  have  the 
child  ape  these  manners." 

Marlborough's  serene  face  slightly  flushed;  he  could  not, 
for  all  his  self-command,  answer;  he  bowed  very  low  under 
the  King's  straight  gaze. 

"You  will  not  forget  the  soldiers,  sir?"  cried  the  little 
Duke  anxiously. 

"On  my  honour,  no,"  answered  William.  "Tell  Her 
Highness  I  shall  soon  wait  on  her." 

He  bent  and  kissed  the  smooth  auburn  head  and  then  the 
upturned,  grateful,  earnest  little  face. 

My  lord  left  with  his  charge,  and  Torrington  was  soon 
after  dismissed ;  the  King  remained  in  the  window-seat.  After 
awhile  came  my  Lords  Devonshire,  Somers,  and  Dorset,  straight 
from  Westminster,  looking  very  gloomy  about  this  business  of 
the  breaking  of  the  troops,  and  after  them  Lord  Ranelagh, 
back  with  his  answer  from  the  Commons. 

The  King  came  forward  a  step  to  meet  him,  and  Ranelagh, 
felt  the  blood  leave  his  own  face  as  he  saw  the  look  that  sprang 
into  William's  haggard  eyes. 

He  stood  silent,  and  the  other  lords  glanced  at  each  other 
furtively. 

The  King  put  his  hand  to  his  heart. 

"  Why  " — he  looked  round  the  distressed  faces — "  why — they 
have  not — refused  ? " 

Ranelagh  dropped  to  one  knee. 

"  Alas,  sire,"  he  began,  "  'twas  from  the  first  hopeless.  .  .  . 
Harley  hath  such  a  hold " 

William  interrupted. 

"The  Commons  have  refused  our  request?" 

Ranelagh  dared  not  make  words  about  it. 

"  Yes,  sire,"  he  answered,  in  a  broken  voice. 

"  Ah ! "  exclaimed  William.  He  turned  away  from  all  of 
them,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  long  shining  floor;  after 


346  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

a  moment  or  so  he  paused  beside  Dorset,  and  said,  in  a  very 
curious  tone — 

"I  must  get  beyond  sea — to — to  breathe  a  little." 

None  of  them  ventured  to  speak,  and  he  moved  to  the 
window  again ;  there  on  the  seat  was  the  little  crumpled  paper 
boat  William  of  Gloucester  had  been  making  out  of  a  scrap 
of  his  lesson  paper. 

The  King  saw  it,  and  a  sudden  passion  kindled  in  him ;  he 
cast  his  eyes  wildly  about  him,  and  exclaimed,  with  the  vehemence 
of  agony — 

"  Had  /  a  son,  by  God,  these  Guards  should  not  leave  me  ! " 


CHAPTER  XII 
APATHY 

MATTHEW  PRIOR,  secretary  to  the  English  Embassy 
at  The  Hague,  walked  in  the  wonderful  gardens  at  Loo, 
where  the  King-Stadtholder  lived  in  retreat. 

It  was  early  summer  of  the  first  year  of  the  new  century; 
there  was  peace  in  Europe,  prosperity  in  England  and  the 
United  Provinces;  the  work  of  William  of  Orange  seemed 
finished  indeed;  he  had  dismissed  the  Parliament  that  had 
so  insulted  and  humiliated  him  without  a  word,  and  as  soon 
as  it  was  up  had  gone  into  retirement  at  Loo;  he  had  lost, 
it  seemed,  all  interest  in  England,  and  even  in  the  affairs  of 
Europe.  When  the  death  of  the  infant  Electoral  Prince  had 
reduced  the  first  Partition  Treaty  to  wastepaper,  William  had 
framed  another  with  the  Archduke  Charles  as  claimant;  the 
discovery  of  this  had  provoked  great  wrath  in  England. 

Portland,  Somers,  and  Montague  had  been  threatened  with 
impeachment;  M.  Canales,  the  Spanish  Ambassador,  had 
delivered  an  impertinent  memorial  to  William,  who  was  now 
regarded  as  a  powerless  cipher  in  a  Parliament-ruled  country, 
and  the  King  had  ordered  him  to  be  dismissed,  and  recalled 
his  ambassador  from  Madrid.  As  long  as  Louis  kept  to  the 
second  Partition  Treaty — and  William  could  not  doubt  but 
that  he  would  keep  so  grave  an  undertaking — he  cared  nothing 
for  what  they  did  in  England;  he  left  the  government  in  the 
hands  of  a  feeble  Tory  ministry,  of  which  the  late  Queen's 
uncle,  Lord  Rochester,  was  the  head,  and,  heedless  of  the 
complaints  and  murmurs,  remained  in  retirement  at  Guelders. 

Matthew  Prior  thought  this  a  sorry  end  for  his  hero.  This 
flinging  of  everything  to  chance,  this  cynical  indifference,  this 
apathetic  calm,  seemed  a  poor  conclusion  for  all  that  high  hope, 


347 


348  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

that  serene  courage,  that  long,  splendid,  patient  endeavour,  that 
continuous,  glorious  action. 

He  thought  sorrowfully  that  it  was  now  too  late.  The  King 
was  no  longer  a  power  in  Europe ;  he  had  been  crossed  and 
humbled  before  all  the  world,  his  army  had  been  taken  from  him, 
his  private  grants  revoked,  his  public  policy  abused,  his  friends, 
his  ministers,  attacked,  that  Spanish  government  that  in  the  days 
of  his  greatness  had  humbly  offered  him  the  Spanish  Netherlands, 
now  dared  to  insult  him  ;  and  he  was  a  dying  man. 

Matthew  Prior  sighed  gloomily  as  he  walked  through  the 
formal  grounds  with  their  exact  parterres,  flower-beds,  groves, 
and  alleys,  their  twin  fountains  and  regular  groups  of  trees. 

The  King  had  been  at  dinner  when  he  arrived,  and  he  was 
waiting  his  audience  with  some  sinking  of  the  heart ;  he  had  not 
seen  William  since  the  peace  was  proclaimed,  three  years  ago. 

It  was  about  three  of  the  clock  when  he  was  sent  for,  and 
conducted  into  the  large  dining-room  where  the  King  was  still 
at  table. 

The  Palace,  which  was  one  of  the  most  admired  in  Europe, 
had  been  built  by  William  with  lavish  magnificence  on  the  site 
of  his  favourite  hunting-box.  Mr.  Prior,  who  had  seen  Versailles, 
was  impressed  by  the  commodious  nobility  of  the  apartments 
through  which  he  passed. 

The  dining-room  was  large,  lofty,  and  cool,  though  filled  with 
the  reflected  sunlight  that  shone  in  the  thick  trees  that  shaded 
the  terrace  on  to  which  the  four  tall  windows  opened.  The 
walls  were  hung  with  pictures  of  the  Princes  of  the  House  of 
Orange,  wearing  armour  and  holding  the  baton  of  authority ; 
above  the  deep  fireplace  was  a  portrait  of  Queen  Mary  in  red 
and  ermine,  clasped  with  emeralds  and  pearls. 

The  whole  room  was  full  of  the  sense  of  afternoon  sun,  but 
was  in  shade  by  reason  of  the  trees  without ;  yet  here  and  there 
the  gold  light  penetrated  and  lay  in  glowing  patches  on  walls, 
floor,  and  the  white  lace  cloth  that  covered  the  long  table  that 
occupied  the  centre  of  ihe  chamber. 

A  number  of  gentlemen  sat  round  this  table  on  velvet- 
covered  stools ;  the  dishes  had  been  removed ;  the  wineglasses 
and  bottles  showed  pleasantly  on  the  white  linen. 

At  the  head  of  the  table  sat  the  King,  in  a  low  arm-chair ; 


APATHY  349 

beside  him  was  a  huge  white  boar-hound,  who  rested  his  long 
head  on  his  master's  knee.  William's  right  arm  was  round  this 
animal,  whom  he  caressed  with  affectionate  movements  of  his 
fingers. 

Mr.  Prior  glanced  round  the  company ;  he  knew  them  all  by 
sight :  there  was  M.  Albemarle,  seated  nearest  to  the  King, 
Lord  Athlone,  my  Lord  Romney,  my  Lord  Wharton,  my  Lord 
Pembroke,  M.  Zuylestein,  and  M.  Auverquerque ;  they  were  all 
laughing  at  something  that  featherbrain  Lord  Romney  was 
relating,  and  most  of  them  were  in  hunting  attire  and  leant 
carelessly  on  the  table. 

Matthew  Prior  looked  at  the  King  with  searching  interest. 

William  was  leaning  back  in  a  languid  attitude,  with  his 
black  plumed  hat  pulled  over  his  eyes ;  he  wore  a  full  coat  of 
velvet  brocade  in  a  dark  purple,  with  the  huge  embroidered 
elbow-cuffs,  now  fashionable,  and  under-sleeves  of  gold  tissue; 
a  great  quantity  of  heavy  lace  fell  over  his  scarlet  waistcoat  and 
at  his  wrists ;  the  long,  thick,  dark  curls  of  his  peruke  half  con- 
cealed the  flash  of  his  star. 

This  extravagant  vesture  increased  the  extreme  delicacy  of 
his  appearance ;  he  seemed  sunk  and  fainting  under  the  weight 
of  velvet,  silk,  and  lace.  His  face  was  pale  and  hollow,  his  eyes 
heavy-lidded  and  deeply  shadowed  beneath ;  constant  pain  had 
drawn  his  mobile  mouth  into  an  expression  of  endurance ;  his 
cleft  chin,  usually  carried  slightly  raised,  was  sunk  on  his  bosom. 

Mr.  Prior,  as  he  came  up  to  make  his  bow,  noticed  that  His 
Majesty's  hands  were  so  thin  that  the  diamond  ring  that  he  wore 
on  the  third  finger  of  the  hand  that  caressed  the  dog  had  slipped 
round  till  the  rose  was  towards  the  palm. 

He  looked  at  the  young  secretary  without  interest. 

"  From  The  Hague  ?  "  he  asked,  and  his  voice  was  broken  to 
a  whisper  with  his  unceasing  asthma. 

Mr.  Prior  went  on  one  knee  and  handed  the  letter  with 
which  he  had  been  charged.  William  motioned  him  to  put  it 
on  the  table  by  the  wineglasses. 

"  Nothing  of  importance,  eh  ?  "  he  said. 

"  I  think  not,  sire ;  it  was  merely  to  ask  instructions  as  to 
how  matters  were  to  be  arranged  with  Monsieur  Heinsius  with 
regard  to  the  Spanish  questions " 


350  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"  Let  that  wait,"  returned  the  King  indifferently.  He  leant 
forward  and  took  up  his  wineglass.  "How  do  you  like  our 
house  of  Loo,  Mr.  Prior?  " 

"  I  think  it  worthy  of  Your  Majesty." 

"The  gardens  are  at  their  finest,"  remarked  William 
languidly. 

Mr.  Prior  rose  and  awaited  commands ;  but  the  King  seemed 
to  quickly  forget  his  presence,  and  the  other  gentlemen  took  no 
notice  of  him  at  all ;  most  of  them  were  far  gone  in  wine,  and 
William  was  drinking  heavily — a  new  thing,  for  he  had  ever 
been  the  most  moderate  of  men  and  intolerant  of  excess  in 
others. 

The  King  turned  his  indifferent  gaze  on  Romney  and 
Wharton,  who  were  arguing  together. 

"  Discussing  a  Republic  for  England,  my  lords  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Something  of  the  kind,  sir,"  said  Wharton. 

"  Well,  I  will  disappoint  you  yet,"  answered  William.  "  I 
will  bring  King  James's  son  over  on  you  and  give  you  another 
Stewart  king " 

"  Why,  that  is  as  Your  Majesty  pleaseth,"  replied  Wharton 
impudently. 

"  Or  there  is  Tom  of  Pembroke,"  continued  William ;  "  there 
is  a  good  block  of  wood  out  of  which  to  chip  a  king  ! " 

Pembroke  raised  a  heated  face  at  this  mention  of  his  name. 

"  Sir,"  he  cried,  leaning  down  the  table  towards  the  King, 
"my  Lord  Albemarle  telleth  me  that  I  was  insolent  last 
night." 

"  So  you  were — damned  insolent,"  said  the  King,  in  his 
quiet,  tired,  unmoved  voice. 

"  I  could  not  have  been  in  my  senses,"  said  Pembroke,  in  a 
slightly  maudlin  tone. 

"Oh,  silly,"  cried  the  King,  "you  were  drunk  as  any 
trooper;  but  I  never  mind  what  a  man  saith  after  his  tenth 
bottle." 

Romney  laughed. 

"You'll  get  more  wisdom  out  of  Tom  then  than  when  he 
is  sober,  sir  !  " 

"  And  even  more  folly  out  of  you,  Harry,"  said  His  Majesty 
dryly. 


APATHY  351 

He  filled  his  tall  glass,  and  was  raising  it  when  he  glanced  at 
Albemarle,  who  was  looking  at  him  steadily. 

William  laughed. 

"  Are  you  thinking  of  the  doctors  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Your  Majesty  will  ever  disregard  their  advice,"  replied  the 
young  man,  with  emotion. 

The  King  laughed  again,  not  at  all  pleasantly  or  graciously. 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  forego  even  the  gratification  this 
affordeth  " — he  touched  the  bottle  contemptuously — "  for  years 
of  life  ?  " 

He  drank  the  wine,  using  all  the  while  his  left  hand,  for  his 
right  arm  was  round  the  boar-hound. 

"  Dr.  Ratcliffe  aspired  to  wit  this  morning,"  he  said.  " '  I 
would  not  have  you  cough  for  your  three  kingdoms,'  he 
remarked.  " '  Doctor,'  I  told  him,  '  'tis  the  three  kingdoms 
killing  me,  not  the  cough.'"  He  looked  round  and  saw  Mr. 
Prior  still  standing  between  the  table  and  the  green-gold  light  of 
the  window. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Prior,  I  play  the  indifferent  host,"  he  murmured. 
"  Join  us — take  your  place " 

Romney  and  Wharton  good-humouredly  made  way  for  the 
young  poet,  who  drew  another  stool  modestly  to  the  table.  He 
was  surprised  at  the  easy  air  of  familiarity  that  reigned ;  the  way 
these  men  spoke  to  the  King,  and  the  way  in  which  he  accepted 
it.  The  three  older  Dutchmen,  Mr.  Prior  noticed,  M.  Zuylestein, 
M.  Auverquerque,  and  my  Lord  Athlone,  were  the  gravest  of  the 
company ;  he  fancied  they  were  there  only  out  of  loyalty  to  the 
King. 

Albemarle  began  talking  to  Wharton;  they  entered  into  a 
lively  discussion  of  their  separate  racing-stables.  The  King  leant 
back  against  the  crimson  cushions  of  his  chair  and  turned  his 
head  so  that  he  looked  out  of  the  window. 

Mr.  Prior  gazed  at  him ;  he  seemed  absorbed  in  thought. 
Mr.  Prior  knew  that  it  was  the  face  of  a  dying  man  and  a  heart- 
broken man  ;  there  was  not  a  line  of  hope,  of  peace,  or  pride  in 
that  wan  countenance ;  only  the  serenity  of  grief,  the  apathy  of 
utter  weariness — a  man  worn  out,  done  for,  awaiting  scornfully 
an  inglorious  end.  And  he  had  done  great  things ;  he  had  been 
a  light  to  encourage  half  the  world — a  name  to  rally  nations. 


352  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"  He  should  have  died  outside  Namur,"  thought  Mr.  Prior, 
and  felt  the  tears  smarting  against  his  lids. 

He  was  not  deceived  by  the  boon  companions,  the  drinking, 
the  careless  talk.  He  knew  that  the  King  cared  for  none  of  it, 
save  as  a  means  to  hasten  death ;  indeed,  the  little  poet  wondered, 
what  had  he  to  live  for  ? — the  Queen  had  gone,  then  Portland,  then 
the  army — his  task  was  finished. 

It  might  have  been  an  hour  or  more  that  the  King  lay  back 
in  his  chair  looking  out  on  the  slow-waving,  full-leaved  boughs, 
through  which  the  changing  sunlight  moved;  while  the  noisy 
talk  of  the  others  filled  the  shadowy  spaces  of  the  mellow, 
lofty  room. 

Albemarle  looked  at  him  often  and  anxiously,  but  did  not 
speak. 

At  last  William  moved,  rousing  the  sleeping  dog. 

"  I  will  go  into  the  garden,"  he  said,  "  before  the  sun  leaves 
it.  I  would  see  those  Turkey  pears." 

Joost  van  Keppel  rose  instantly.  The  King  took  his  arm  and 
got  up  slowly,  coughing  with  the  effort  of  movement.  Mr.  Prior 
was  shocked  to  see  that  he  could  not  stand  alone,  but  must 
support  himself  on  Albemarle's  young  strength. 

The  others  rose,  save  my  Lord  Pembroke,  who  had  been 
asleep  this  half-hour  across  the  table.  The  King  saw  him — an 
unpleasing  spectacle  of  a  stout  gentleman  with  peruke  awry  and 
a  coarsely  red  face,  breathing  heavily  through  his  open  mouth, 
with  a  wet  stain  of  wine  under  his  cheek  and  over  his  cravat. 

Mr.  Prior  expected  a  burst  of  anger  from  the  King;  but, 
instead,  His  Majesty,  still  holding  on  to  my  Lord  Albemarle's 
arm,  broke  into  a  long  fit  of  laughter,  in  which  the  others  joined 
for  no  reason  at  all  save  their  vacant  humours. 

The  poet  could  not  force  even  a  smile.  William's  unusual 
and  immoderate  amusement  had  a  sad  sound  to  him. 

Romney  and  Wharton  went  to  drag  Pembroke  to  his  feet,  and 
the  King  continued  laughing. 

He  was  still  laughing  when  an  usher  and  a  courier  entered 
the  room. 

"From  England,  sire,"  said  the  latter,  dropping  to  one 
knee. 

Albemarle  sobered  instantly.     The  King  ceased  laughing  and 


APATHY  353 

let  go  my  lord's  arm,  holding  himself  upright  by  aid  of  the  table 
edge. 

"Well,  what  of  England?"  he  muttered.  "We  have  no 
great  interest  in  England." 

"  Grave  news,  Your  Majesty,"  answered  the  exhausted  courier, 
who  had  ridden  fast  from  The  Hague. 

The  King  took  the  dispatch  and  broke  it  open ;  it  was  from 
Lord  Rochester,  and  contained  a  few  lines  written  in  haste : 
"  His  Highness  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  died  suddenly  last  night 
of  a  chill.  He  desired  to  be  remembered  to  Your  Majesty." 

William's  hands  trembled ;  the  news  was  serious  in  so  far  as 
it  meant  that  the  English  succession  was  now  absolutely  unsettled. 
But  he  was  not  thinking  of  that,  but  of  the  white,  anxious  child's 
face  framed  in  those  auburn  curls,  and  the  gallant  spirit  looking 
out  of  troubled  eyes  that  had  faced  the  miseries  of  royalty  so 
bravely. 

"My  Lord  of  Gloucester  is  dead,"  he  said  briefly,  flinging 
down  the  dispatch.  "  They  might  have  spared  their  Greek  and 
Latin — poor  sweet  wretch  ! "  His  voice  shook  a  little.  "  I  am 
glad  he  had  his  troop  of  Horse."  Then,  during  the  little  pause  of 
consternation  that  held  them  all  mute,  he  spoke  again :  "  And  I 
am  glad  he  did  not  live  to  be  a  King." 


CHAPTER  XIII 
FRANCE  CHALLENGES 

THE  sentry  on  duty  at  the  foot  of  the  great  staircase  in 
Hampton  Court  Palace  was  nearly  asleep. 

The  palace  had  been  silent  for  hours;  ever  since  he  had 
relieved  the  soldier  before  him  he  had  not  heard  a  sound.  It 
was  now  nearly  three  o'clock  and  beginning  to  be  dark  on  the 
huge,  gloomy  stairway,  for  it  was  mid-November  and  a  mist  had 
risen  all  day  from  the  river. 

The  sentry  yawned  and  then  shivered.  Wren's  palace  was 
neither  very  cheerful  nor  very  well  warmed.  The  sentry  pre- 
ferred Whitehall,  with  the  noises  of  the  city  without  and  the 
coming  and  going  of  people  to  the  public  galleries. 

His  Majesty  was  in  residence  at  Hampton  Court,  but  that 
made  little  difference.  He  lived  so  quietly  and  saw  so  few 
people,  that  he  might,  the  sentry  thought,  as  well  have  stayed 
at  Loo.  He  only  came,  as  was  well  known,  to  open  Parliament, 
and  the  moment  it  was  up  he  would  be  off  again  to  Holland — 
a  poor  compliment  to  England;  and  now  there  was  not  the 
excuse  of  the  campaigns. 

The  sentry  yawned  again  and  stretched  himself,  after  carefully 
resting  his  musketoon  against  the  dark  wall ;  then  he  looked  up 
the  stairs,  which  were  painted  with  great,  scrambling,  heathen 
figures  that  swarmed  up  to  the  roof,  where  they  were  lost  in  the 
fast  gathering  shadows.  He  then  walked  up  and  down  to  keep 
himself  warm,  and  began  to  wonder  how  much  longer  now  before 
he  was  changed;  it  was  difficult  to  keep  count  of  the  time 
because  he  had  lost  the  last  chiming  of  King  Henry's  great, 
painted  clock. 

Presently  the  door  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  opened,  very 
slowly,  but  with  a  distinct  sound  in  the  perfect  silence. 

354 


FRANCE  CHALLENGES  355 

The  sentry  caught  up  his  musketoon,  thinking  that  this  was 
one  of  the  officers  from  the  guard-room,  and  peered  cautiously 
up  the  stairway. 

It  was,  however,  a  gentleman  in  private  clothes  who  was 
slowly  closing  the  door  after  him  with,  it  seemed,  some  difficulty. 

The  sentry,  who  knew  no  one  had  gone  up,  wondered  who  it 
could  be.  The  stairs  were  so  dark  that  he  could  distinguish  no 
more  than  a  slight  figure,  hatless,  and  wearing  a  cloak. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  and  silence,  then  the  new- 
comer began  to  descend  the  wide,  shadowed  stairs,  and  the 
sentry  knew  who  it  was — there  was  only  one  person  who  moved 
about  the  palace  with  that  slow  and  painful  step,  and  that  was 
the  King. 

The  man  drew  back,  rigid,  to  his  post.  He  wondered  that  the 
King  should  be  coming  down  the  state  staircase  unattended  and 
on  such  an  inclement  day.  As  he  stood,  stiff  at  the  salute,  he 
watched  the  frail  figure  crawling  with  dragging  pauses  through 
the  dusk. 

The  King  had  one  hand  on  the  heavy  balustrade,  and,  by 
grasping  this,  helped  himself  along.  His  head  was  bowed,  and  he 
continually  paused  to  cough  or  gasp  for  breath,  his  hesitating 
and  unequal  steps  began  to  rasp  in  the  sentry's  brain — he  wished 
some  one  else  would  come.  It  seemed  an  intolerable  length  of 
time  as  the  King  made  his  difficult  progress  from  step  to  step, 
and  the  cloaked  figure  with  the  bent,  hidden  face  and  the  one 
white  hand,  so  thin  that  every  bone  in  it  showed,  moving  slowly 
down  the  baluster,  affected  the  solitary  watcher  with  a  sense 
almost  of  terror. 

As  the  King  approached  this  terror  increased,  as  if  some 
ghostly  or  unearthly  presence  neared.  The  hall  and  stairway 
rapidly  darkened,  and  the  King  was  but  a  shadow  among 
shadows  when  he  at  length  reached  the  last  step  and  stood 
grasping  the  post  with  his  left  hand  and  holding  his  heart  with 
his  right. 

He  stood  there  so  long  and  so  silently  that  the  sentry's  sense 
of  discomfort  increased,  and  he  felt  a  strong  desire  to  turn  and  fly. 

Presently  the  King  moved,  with  difficult,  faltering  steps,  across 
the  hall,  and  unlatched  the  door  that  gave  on  the  courtyard. 
As  he  did  so,  a  full  ray  of  ghastly  light  fell  across  the  obscurity, 


356  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

and  the  reason  of  the  sudden  darkness  was  explained,  for  a  thin 
cloud  of  snow  could  be  seen  against  the  grey  masonry  of  the 
palace. 

The  sentry,  who  knew  that  it  was  dangerous  for  the  King  to 
go  out  save  when  the  weather  was  very  fair,  was  startled  to  see 
him  standing  there  with  the  chill  wind  stirring  his  cloak  and  the 
bitter  light  of  the  snow  on  his  face.  He  stepped  forward  in- 
stinctively, but  the  King  did  not  hear  him. 

After  a  few  seconds  William  passed  out,  and,  acting  on  an 
irresistible  impulse,  the  sentry  followed  him. 

The  King  turned  to  the  left  under  the  covered  arcade,  and, 
half  resting  himself  on  the  inner  wall,  made  weary  progress,  the 
snow  drifting  in  through  the  open  arches  as  far  as  his  feet.  He 
was  continually  so  shaken  with  his  cough  that  he  had  to  pause, 
and  once  the  sentry  caught  a  short  ejaculation  of  pain. 

They  had  made  almost  the  circuit  of  the  courtyard  and  had 
come  to  another  entrance  to  the  palace,  when  a  second  sentry 
crossed  their  path.  William  murmured  something,  passed  him 
without  looking  back ;  the  soldier  stared  after  him,  then  caught 
sight  of  the  other  following. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  quick  whisper. 

The  sentry  explained  as  best  he  could.  Ought  the  King  to  go 
out  alone — to  go  out  this  weather  at  all  ? — why,  he  could  hardly 
crawl,  and  his  cough  hurt  one  to  hear. 

The  second  sentry  only  knew  that  they  were  to  stay  at  their 
posts;  he  advised  his  companion  to  go  back  to  his  lest  the 
captain  discovered.  As  for  the  King,  it  was  known  that  he  was 
not  good  for  long  anyhow,  and  it  was  no  business  of  theirs. 

The  other  soldier  was  not  so  sure;  he  thought  my  Lord 
Albemarle  ought  to  know,  at  least.  The  King  might  easily  be 
murdered  by  the  French  or  the  Jacks,  and  then  they  would  be 
blamed. 

But  by  now  William  had  disappeared.  The  soldiers  continued 
arguing  in  subdued  voices,  when  they  were  interrupted  by  the 
approach  of  a  slim  gentleman  in  furs  and  velvet,  who  came  with 
an  easy,  graceful  step  along  the  arcade.  Both  the  men  knew 
him ;  he  was  the  great  Earl  of  Sunderland. 

His  quick  eye  noticed  two  soldiers  in  place  of  one,  and  that 
they  were  talking.  His  suspicions,  that  never  lay  very  deep, 


FRANCE  CHALLENGES  357 

were  instantly  roused,  he  clapt  his  hand  to  his  sword  and 
paused. 

The  man  who  had  followed  the  King  found  courage  to  speak. 

"My  lord,  I  humbly  ask  the  pardon  of  your  lordship,  but  His 
Majesty  hath  gone  out  unattended  in  this  foul  weather,  and  I  was 
bold  enough  to  follow  His  Majesty,  thinking  of  all  the  late 
plots." 

"Who  are  you?"  demanded  Sunderland. 

"  May  it  please  your  lordship,  the  sentry  at  the  foot  of  the 
state  staircase." 

My  lord  narrowed  his  eyes  on  the  man. 

"  You  were  on  guard  once  outside  Whitehall  on  the  day  the 
bishops  were  acquitted.  I  spoke  to  you — 'God  and  the  King' 
— you  recall,  fellow  ?  " 

The  soldier  was  silent  with  astonishment  at  the  memory  of 
my  lordj  for  himself,  he  recollected  very  well,  but  it  was 
marvellous  that  a  great  nobleman  should  remember  such  an 
incident  during  so  many  years. 

Sunderland  gave  him  no  time  to  speak. 

"Where  did  His  Majesty  go?" 

The  soldier  humbly  pointed  out  the  way,  and  my  lord  turned 
on  his  heel  and  went  rapidly  across  the  dark,  snowy  courtyard. 
He  had  reached  the  farther  court,  untouched  by  Mr.  Wren 
and  still  of  the  fashion  of  the  great  cardinal  and  Harry  Tudor, 
before  he  saw  the  King  ahead  of  him,  a  solitary  figure  in  the 
grey  afternoon. 

My  lord  was  instantly  beside  him. 

"  Sire,  I  must  speak  with  you,  and  at  once." 

William  looked  round  calmly. 

"  Come  to  the  river — I  had  a  mind  to  see  the  river." 

Sunderland,  standing  uncovered,  answered  with  energy  and 
decision — 

"  Sire,  if  you  have  no  regard  for  your  own  health,  consider 
mine.  This  weather  is  death." 

William  took  his  arm. 

"  No,  Robert,  'tis  the  fireside  that  is  death  to  me — to  sit  and 
doze  like  a  sick  woman  in  shawls ;  but  come  into  the  great  Hall, 
where  we  may  be  undisturbed.  Dr.  Burnet  is  in  my  apartments 
with  a  packet  of  sermons."  He  paused  to  cough,  and  then 


358  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

added:  "As  for  your  news — you  are  going  to  offer  me  your 
resignation." 

"That,"  said  Sunderland,  "and  something  else." 

"  Important  ?  " 

"  Of  the  greatest  importance." 

They  turned  back  across  the  courtyard,  came  to  a  dark  arch- 
way, and  mounted  a  few  steps  to  the  left  of  it  that  led  straight 
into  the  great  banqueting  hall  of  Cardinal  Wolsey,  that,  all  dis- 
mantled and  unfurnished  as  it  was,  had  the  air  of  a  vast,  deserted 
church.  It  was  even  colder  than  the  outer  air,  and  only  an 
obscure  light  filtered  through  the  tall  stained-glass  windows. 

But  William  liked  the  place  for  its  very  sombreness.  He  led 
the  way  to  the  room  beyond,  that  was  hung  with  old  arras  and 
suits  of  armour,  and  lit  by  an  oriel  window,  brilliant,  even  now, 
with  coats  and  emblazonments. 

A  circular  seat  ran  round  this  window,  and  in  front  of  it  was 
a  table. 

Here  the  King  and  his  minister  seated  themselves.  William 
leant  back  against  the  stained-glass,  he  was  wrapped  in  his  cloak 
to  the  chin,  and  his  face  was  quite  colourless ;  only  his  eyes  fixed 
Sunderland  with  a  look  clear,  vivid,  and  penetrating  as  ever. 

"  So  even  you  are  leaving  me  ?  "  he  said. 

My  lord  laid  his  hat  on  the  table  and  began  to  pull  off  his 
gloves. 

"  As  to  that,"  he  answered,  "  I  am  assured  that  there  are  a 
hundred  and  sixty  voices  in  the  House  for  my  impeachment. 
My  friends  could  not  face  that.  And  I  am  too  old,  sire,  and  too 
tired  to  brave  what  I  once  would  have  braved." 

William  nodded. 

"  I  would  not  ask  it  of  you." 

Sunderland  detached  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  gold  key  from 
his  crimson  waistcoat  and  placed  it  on  the  pale  oak  table. 

"  I  shall  be  always  at  your  service — just  the  same,"  he  said ; 
"  but  I  shall  never  climb  again."  He  smiled.  "  This  is  the  sum 
of  it,  sire — I  have  no  title  that  I  was  not  born  to,  I  shall  have  an 
impaired  estate,  a  detested  memory — but  I  have  lived  my  life, 
and  I  have  no  regrets — none." 

"  You  take  with  you  my  deep  thanks  and  gratitude,"  responded 
William,  with  animation.  "  I  could  never  have  done  what  I  have 


FRANCE  CHALLENGES  359 

done  but  for  you.  You  will  remain  my  friend,  if  not  my  minister. 
What  is  your  other  news  ?  " 

"Of  far  greater  importance,  sire.  Of  terrible  meaning  to 
Your  Majesty." 

William's  eyes  flashed.     He  leant  forward. 

"To  do — with  France?"  he  breathed. 

"Yes,  sire.  The  courier  from  Paris  will  be  here  to-night, 
but  the  news  is  all  abroad  in  London  now." 

The  King's  hollow  cheek  flushed 

"  Tell  me,"  he  commanded. 

Sunderland  hesitated ;  it  was  not  easy  to  tell  a  great  states- 
man that  he  had  been  duped,  that  his  laborious  schemes  had 
ended  in  humiliating  failure.  It  was  not  easy  to  tell  a  dying  man 
that  his  life-work  was  all  to  do  again. 

"Well?"  urged  the  King  imperiously. 

"  Sire,  when  the  King  of  Spain  died  and  left  his  crown  to 
Philippe  D'Anjou,  Your  Majesty  was  not  disturbed  ?  " 

"  No — because  of  the  Partition  Treaties." 

Sunderland  looked  away,  and  said  in  a  low  voice — 

"  King  Louis  hath  flung  over  the  Partition  Treaties,  accepted 
the  will,  and  published  a  memorial  justifying  his  action." 

On  hearing  that  he  had  been  so  cheated,  deceived,  betrayed, 
that,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  had  made  a  huge  political 
mistake,  a  blunder,  in  trusting  France,  and  that  France  had  been 
all  this  time  laughing  at  him,  that  he  had  been  King  Louis'  dupe, 
that  he  was  despised  and  challenged  by  the  court  he  had  once 
humbled,  William  gave  a  little  gasp  like  a  sob,  and  sat  very 
still. 

"  Louis,"  continued  Sunderland,  "  defies  you,  the  Republic, 
and  the  Emperor,  and  thinks  of  nothing  but  seating  his  grandson 
on  the  throne  of  Spain." 

William  sprang  up  with  the  energy  of  a  strong  man. 

"  My  God  ! "  he  cried,  "  I  was  a  fool  to  trust  France.  I 
should  have  known  !  I  should  have  known  ! " 

A  colour  was  in  his  face,  his  eyes  were  brilliant,  his  breast 
heaved. 

"  Their  effrontery ! "  he  cried  again ;  "  their  shameful 
effrontery !  I  did  not  think  even  they  would  have  broken  a 
solemn  treaty  made  in  the  face  of  the  whole  world  !  I  must 


360  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

confess  I  am  a  dupe,"  he  added  proudly,  "  but  if  faith  and  honour 
are  to  be  disregarded  'tis  easy  to  cheat  any  man." 

He  sank  back  on  the  window-seat  and  pressed  his  hand  to 
his  forehead. 

"They  think  I  am  a  cipher  now — a  King  without  an  army — 
a  dying  man,  but  I  am  he  who  met  them  single-handed  once 
and  could  again."  His  voice,  broken  and  weak  as  it  was,  ex- 
pressed an  extraordinary  enthusiasm  and  resolution.  "France 
shall  pay  for  this.  I  will  commit  Europe  to  demand  payment, 
even  if  I  do  not  live  to  see  it  given.  Dear  Lord !  doth  Louis 
think  that  while  I  draw  a  breath  a  Bourbon  shall  rule  over  Spain, 
the  Netherlands,  Milan,  Sicily — the  Indies  ?  " 

He  rose  and  began  to  walk  about ;  his  eyes  had  flashed  no 
brighter  in  his  youth.  He  clasped  his  sword-hilt  and  half  drew  it 
from  the  scabbard. 

"  The  sword,  the  sword  ! "  he  said,  "  no  way  but  that.  Did 
I  not  ever  say  so  ?  The  sword  shall  bring  them  to  their  knees  yet ; 
that  is  the  only  way  to  deal  with  France." 

Sunderland  sat  silent.  He  was  appalled  at  the  thought  of  the 
task  before  the  King  if  he  would  resist  the  aggressions  of  Louis ; 
for  the  English  were  in  no  humour  for  another  war,  and  had  been 
from  the  first  inclined  to  the  King  of  Spain's  will,  not  the 
Partition  Treaty  —  principally,  perhaps,  because  William  had 
framed  the  latter. 

My  lord  ventured  to  hint  some  of  this. 

"  I  know,"  answered  William  quietly.  "  The  blindness  here 
is  incredible — the  ignorance,  the  malice,  astonishing.  It  is  the 
utmost  mortification  to  me  that  I  cannot  at  once  act  with  the 
rigour  I  should,  but  I  have  performed  some  hard  tasks  before. 
/  must  bring  England  into  this.  And  there  is  the  Republic — 
when  did  she  fail  ?  She  is  with  me  always." 

He  came  and  sat  by  Sunderland  again,  rested  his  elbows  on 
the  table  and  looked  down  at  the  floor,  supporting  his  head  on 
his  left  hand. 

He  was  face  to  face  with,  and  had  instantly  and  deliberately 
undertaken,  a  task  more  difficult  and  tremendous  than  those  he 
had  carried  through  in  '72  and  '88.  It  would  be  the  greatest 
action  of  his  life — and  he  had  perhaps  a  few  months,  at  most  a 
few  years,  to  live.  There  were  as  many  odds  against  him  as 


FRANCE  CHALLENGES  361 

there  had  ever  been ;  so  many,  so  continuous,  had  been  his 
humiliations  and  sorrows,  that  a  few  moments  ago  he  had  not 
desired  to  live  another  day.  Now  he  found  himself  called  to  the 
supreme  task  of  all  his  laborious  career — a  task  which,  if  success- 
ful, would  crown  his  work  with  ultimate  triumph,  however 
distant,  and  which,  if  it  failed,  would  make  his  whole  life  useless 
indeed. 

He  looked  at  his  wasted  hand  lying  on  the  table.  Every 
breath  was  a  pain  to  him.  He  had  scarcely  the  strength  to  sit 
upright.  He  had  to  be  lifted  on  to  his  horse,  or  into  his  coach. 
The  doctors  gave  him  dates  beyond  which  he  could  not  live ;  but 
his  spirit  was  unchanged  since  the  day  that  it  had  inspired  him 
to  wrest  his  country  from  the  conqueror,  and  it  rose  now  to  such 
a  strength  of  enthusiasm  that  it  actually  laughed  at  the  weakness 
of  the  poor  body  that  held  it  ... 

William  of  Orange  looked  up  smiling. 

"  I  shall  succeed,"  he  said.     "  I  shall  succeed." 


THE  VANGUARD  OF  THE  WORLD 

AGAIN  the  trees  were  yellowing  in  the  splendid  park  at  Loo ; 
again  the  autumn  sun  fell  tenderly  over  the  Palace  and 
the  stiff  beds  of  late  roses. 

William  of  England  and  Monsieur  Heinsius  were  standing  by 
the  sundial,  which  was  the  centre  of  formal  walks  and  exact 
parterres. 

They  were  discussing  the  progress  of  that  endeavour  the  King 
had  set  himself  nearly  a  year  ago,  when  he  learnt  of  Louis's 
breaking  of  the  Partition  Treaty — a  year  of  toil,  of  patience,  of 
skill,  of  tact,  of  sacrifice  on  the  part  of  William ;  and  it  had  met 
with  success.  Even  the  English  Parliament  had  not  been  able 
to  resist  his  exquisite  management.  Meanwhile  he  was  quietly 
forming  the  Grand  Alliance  and  feeling  his  way  to  hurl  the 
inevitable  challenge  at  France. 

He  was  leaning  now  on  a  thick  polished  malacca  cane,  with 
a  gold  and  ivory  handle,  from  which  swung  two  heavy  crimson 
tassels,  and  listening  to  the  Grand  Pensionary  of  Holland,  who 
had  been  in  everything  the  perfect  friend,  the  perfect  servant. 

"We  can  do  no  more,"  M.  Heinsius  was  saying;  "the  States 
are  in  readiness.  We  must  wait  for  England." 

"I  have  been  doing  that,"  answered  William,  "all  my  life." 
And  he  sighed  a  little,  though  not  with  discouragement.  There 
had  of  late  been  every  sign  that  the  temper  of  the  English  was 
changing.  They  began  to  murmur  at  the  Parliament  and  its 
constant  thwarting  of  the  King.  Louis  had  been,  as  usual, 
insolent  in  his  triumph,  and  British  pride  began  to  rise  at 
French  insults.  William  had  waited  with  infinite  patience, 
worked  with  infinite  skill.  He  still  waited  and  still  worked, 

but  with  a  sure  hope  of  success.     Louis,  in  the  infatuation  of 

362 


THE  VANGUARD  OF  THE  WORLD     363 

his  success,  might  easily  commit  some  arrogant  action  that 
would  inflame  the  people  of  England  beyond  the  control  of  any 
faction-ridden  Commons. 

William  took  out  his  crystal  and  gold  filigree  watch  and  set 
it  by  the  sundial.  The  sky,  the  trees,  the  walks  and  groves, 
the  stately  lines  of  the  Palace,  were  all  radiant  in  an  amber- 
coloured  light.  The  breeze  was  warm  as  mid-summer,  and 
lifted  the  leaves  with  a  pleasant  sound.  The  King  raised  his 
eyes  to  the  peaceful  autumn  beauty,  and  there  was  a  look  in 
them  that  was  never  absent  when  he  was  in  his  own  country — 
an  unconscious  expression  of  the  deep  passion  he  felt  for  his 
own  land,  for  the  very  air  of  it,  the  very  grass  and  trees  and 
clouds. 

Presently  he  and  M.  Heinsius  went  into  the  house.  Some 
German  princes  were  to  dine  with  the  King.  All  his  Dutch 
friends  were  there  also  (save  only  Portland),  and  it  seemed  like 
the  old  days  again  when  the  Stadtholder  would  escape  for  a  few 
days'  hunt  to  Guelders — when  he  was  young  and  everything  was 
yet  to  do. 

Albemarle,  lately  invested  with  the  garter,  and  radiant  under 
his  splendours  and  in  the  satisfaction  of  great  abilities  finding 
scope,  had  newly  come  from  London,  and  during  the  meal 
William  questioned  him  on  the  state  of  parties  there.  His 
answers  were  satisfactory :  the  men  of  Kent  had  lately  sent  a 
stern  memorial  to  the  Parliament,  requesting  them  to  give  up 
their  internal  quarrels  and  aid  the  King  in  helping  his  allies  in  a 
fitting  manner  to  resist  French  dominion  in  Europe. 

The  King  spoke  affectionately  and  gratefully  to  Albemarle ; 
then  leant  back  in  his  chair,  and  was,  after  his  habit, -silent. 

His  reserve  had  grown  on  him  more  and  more  of  late ;  he 
scarcely  spoke  at  all  save  to  his  intimates,  and  saw  only  those 
when  he  was  obliged. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  long  dinner  he  roused  himself,  and, 
leaning  towards  M.  Heinsius,  who  sat  on  his  right,  said  a  curious 
thing. 

"Do  you  think  Monsieur  de  Witt  would  be  proud  ot  his 
pupil  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

M.  Heinsius  could  find  no  answer. 

"  He  was  about  the  age  I  am  now  when  he  met  his  end," 


364  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

continued  William,  in  a  quiet  tone.  "  After  all,  he  had  a  happier 
life  than  I  have  had  .  .  .  Monsieur  de  Witt !  How  long  ago  it 
seemeth ! " 

He  filled  his  glass,  and  lifted  it  as  if  he  drank  a  silent  toast. 
He  looked  down  the  rich  table  and  the  splendid  guests  and 
up  at  the  portrait  of  his  wife  above  the  dark  chimney-piece. 

A  full  ray  of  dusky  sunlight  struck  across  the  canvas  and 
gave  the  painted  face  something  of  the  glow  and  bloom  of  life. 
The  large  brown  eyes  seemed  to  sparkle,  the  red  lips  to  move, 
the  white  breast  to  heave.  The  King  was  still  looking  straight 
at  this  picture  when  a  messenger  entered. 

At  a  glance  William  saw  that  his  dispatches  were  from 
England  and  France.  He  set  the  wine  down,  and  broke  open 
that  from  London. 

M.  Heinsius,  intently  watching  him,  saw  his  countenance 
change,  a  violent  flush  rise  to  his  cheek,  and  his  hands  tremble. 

He  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes  to  cover  his  emotion,  and 
nervously  tore  open  the  French  dispatch.  M.  Heinsius  saw  that 
this  was  in  the  hand  of  my  Lord  Manchester,  English  Ambassador 
in  Paris. 

When  the  King  had  read  it  he  was  composed  again,  but  even 
paler  than  usual.  He  folded  both  the  letters  up  and  placed 
them  in  the  huge  flap  pocket  of  his  coat;  then  he  cast  his 
dimmed  but  still  eagle  eye  round  the  table. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  in  a  firm  voice,  "  His  late  Majesty 
King  James  is  dead  at  St.  Germains." 

He  pushed  back  his  chair  a  little  and  drew  a  quick  breath. 

"  And  King  Louis  hath  shamelessly  outraged  us  by  proclaim- 
ing his  son,  the  pretended  Prince  of  Wales,  the  King  of  Great 
Britain." 

For  a  moment  the  company  could  not  grasp  the  import  of 
this  news :  it  was  too  monstrous. 

"His  Christian  Majesty  hath  been  foolish  before,"  added 
William,  with  grim  meaning;  "never,  I  think,  so  foolish  as  this." 

"By  God!"  cried  M.  Heinsius,  "there  will  be  no  further 
difficulty  with  England  now  ! " 

The  silence  broke  into  murmurs  and  exclamations.  The 
King  took  no  notice  of  them ;  he  was  thinking  of  the  meaning 
of  this  in  Europe.  Louis  had  now  broken  the  Treaty  of  Ryswyck 


THE  VANGUARD  OF  THE  WORLD     365 

as  he  had  the  Partition  Treaties.  The  result  would  be  instant 
and  inevitable  war.  Even  the  peace  party  in  the  English 
Commons  could  not  hang  back  now  .  .  . 

He  turned  suddenly  to  Albemarle. 

"  Send  at  once  to  London  that  M.  Poussin  is  to  leave  as 
quickly  as  M.  Barillon  did  in  '88."  He  laughed  shortly.  "  This 
will  be  the  second  time  I  have  turned  a  French  Ambassador  out 
of  London !  And  Manchester  shall  be  recalled  at  once."  He 
rose.  "Gentlemen,"  he  said,  addressing  the  eager  Dutch  and 
Germans,  "this  meaneth  our  third  war  with  France;  and  this 
time  I  think  it  will  be  conclusive,  and  we,  not  France,  be  left 
the  vanguard  of  the  world." 


CHAPTER  XV 
THE  EVE  OF  WAR 

SERVICE  was  being  held  in  the  Royal  Chapel  at  Hampton 
Court. 

There  were  not  many  people  there:  only  the  King,  the 
officers  of  his  household,  and  one  or  two  others,  including  Mr. 
Prior,  new  come  from  The  Hague. 

William  knelt  alone  in  his  pew  while  his  chaplain  delivered 
the  final  and  beautiful  prayers  of  the  Anglican  service ;  he  was 
not  listening  to  or  repeating  these  prayers. 

The  old  austerity  of  his  stern  religion  had  become  softened 
with  his  vaster  knowledge  and  experiences,  nor  could  his  firm 
conception  of  a  wide  tolerance  maintain  the  narrow  prejudices 
of  sectarian  belief;  but  the  old  teaching  of  the  faith  that  had 
supported  his  youth  and  manhood  through  so  much  was  still 
strong  in  him.  It  suited  his  nature  and  his  circumstance ;  it  was 
the  creed  of  his  beloved  country,  and  had  ever  been  under  the 
especial  protection  of  his  family.  The  heart  of  the  King  was 
still  as  Calvinist  as  it  had  been  when  he  learnt  his  grim  theology 
from  Pastor  Trigland.  Though  he  knelt  in  English  churches 
and  listened  to  Anglican  services,  it  pleased  him  to  close  his 
eyes  and  imagine  himself  back  in  the  bare  whitewashed  Groote 
Kerk,  an  eager  grave  boy,  a  silent  anxious  man,  seated  in  the 
stiff  pew  watching  the  sunlight  fall  athwart  the  massive,  tall 
pillars,  and  drawing  stern  comfort  and  noble  inspiration  from  the 
pastor's  thunderous  declamation  of  the  theology  of  Geneva. 

This  morning  the  picture  came  before  him  with  a  peculiar 
and  painful  vividness.  He  put  his  hand  over  his  eyes  and 
thought  that  he  could  hear  the  little  stir  of  Mary's  gown  beside 
him,  and  that  if  he  put  out  his  hand  he  would  touch  hers,  warm 
on  her  Prayer  Book  .  .  . 


THE  EVE  OF  WAR  367 

Long  after  the  prayers  had  ceased  he  continued  kneeling, 
and  when  he  at  last  rose  there  was  a  curious  expression  on  his 
face. 

When  he  left  the  Chapel  his  words  were  to  know  if  Albemarle 
had  yet  arrived. 

No,  he  was  told,  but  my  lord  might  be  expected  any  hour,  as 
the  packet  from  Holland  had  got  in  last  night. 

The  King  had  constantly  shown  a  wistful  impatience  for  the 
return  of  Albemarle,  when  he  had  parted  from  him  with  great 
pain;  but  my  lord  was  the  only  person  who  knew  his  exact 
wishes  in  the  matter  of  the  disposal  of  the  troops  in  the  United 
Provinces  and  whom  he  could  entrust  with  his  minute  instructions 
to  M.  Heinsius. 

He  now  calculated  that  my  lord,  even  riding  all  night,  could 
scarcely  be  there  before  midday,  and  he  ordered  out  his  horse 
and  said  he  would  ride  in  the  park  awhile.  It  was  a  day  in 
February,  and  mild  and  fine.  Of  late,  too,  he  had  been  un- 
expectedly better  in  health,  and  had  even  hunted  and  spent 
hours  on  horseback. 

As  the  little  company  left  the  Chapel,  Mr.  Prior  fell  behind 
to  speak  with  Lord  Buckhurst,  son  of  my  Lord  Dorset,  Mr. 
Prior's  former  patron. 

"Everything  is  done,  is  it  not?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  Everything,"  said  my  young  lord,  with  enthusiasm.  "  We — 
and  the  allies — will  take  the  field  this  spring.  God  bless  His 
Majesty ! " 

"Ay,  he  did  it.  I  would  I  could  have  heard  his  speech 
to  Parliament.  They  say,  sir,  it  hath  roused  Europe  like  the 
trumpet-call  to  charge " 

"  Europe,  Mr.  Prior,  and  the  Commons  of  England.  I  think 
no  nobler  words  were  ever  heard  in  Westminster — he  raised  them 
all  above  themselves — you  have  read  the -speech?  It  is  in  a 
dozen  different  tongues  already.  England  might  hold  the  balance 
of  Europe,  he  said,  if  she  would  exert  her  ancient  vigour  and 
forget  her  unhappy  internal  animosities; — and  she  will,  Mr. 
Prior,  she  will — thanks  to  His  Majesty." 

My  Lord  Buckhurst  was  only  voicing  the  general  sentiment 
of  enthusiasm  and  loyalty  that  William  had  at  last  succeeded  in 
rousing. 


368  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"  Will  the  King  take  the  campaign  this  year  ?  "  asked  Matthew 
Prior,  as  they  strolled  out  into  the  magnificent  gardens. 

"  I  do  not  think  so — it  is  to  be  my  Lord  Maryborough.'* 

"A  man  who  was  ever  detested  by  the  King." 

"  His  Majesty  saith  he  is  the  greatest  general  and  statesman. 
Next  year  he  might  go  himself — there  seemeth  hope  that  he 
might  be  recovered  then." 

They  passed  the  yew  hedges  and  fountains,  the  famous 
patterned  flower-beds,  and  came  out  by  King  Charles's  Long 
Canal,  with  the  resplendent  avenue  of  trees  rising  up  lofty 
against  the  pale  spring  sky  and  fading  into  a  fair,  hazy  distance. 
Coming  now  into  the  park  where  the  fresh  grass  was  pushing  up 
through  the  dead  damp  leaves  of  last  autumn,  and  the  little 
gioups  of  slender  deer  moved  delicately  through  the  open 
sloping  glades,  they  perceived  the  King  riding  with  two  grooms, 
and  holding  his  hat  in  his  hand  to  catch  the  full  strength  of  the 
faimt  sun  on  his  face. 

He  drew  up  his  horse  as  he  saw  the  two  gentlemen,  and 
spoke  to  them  kindly,  telling  them  of  the  new  fine  entrance- 
gates  he  proposed  to  make  from  the  Palace  grounds  to  Bushey 
Park. 

He  looked  more  animated  and  cheerful  than  he  had  done  for  a 
long  while.  He  was  mounted  on  a  splendid  young  sorrel  horse, 
that  he  managed  with  all  his  old  skill. 

"A  new  fellow,"  he  remarked.  "The  grooms  warned  me  he 
was  spirited,  but  I  could  scarcely  be  afraid  of  a  horse — eh?" 
He  faintly  smiled  and  patted  the  great  creature's  glossy  neck 
with  his  thin,  white,  ungloved  hand. 

My  Lord  Buckhurst  looked  at  the  frail  figure  of  the  King  and 
the  great  power  of  the  animal,  and  indeed  wondered  that  he 
could  manage  him.  He  secretly  agreed  with  the  grooms  that 
William  was  perhaps  relying  too  much  on  his  exquisite  horseman- 
ship in  mounting  such  an  untried  brute. 

"  I  hope,"  said  William,  "  that  I  shall  find  my  Lord  Albemarle 
when  I  return." 

He  touched  up  the  horse  and  galloped  away  out  of  sight 
down  the  long  avenue,  the  grooms  after  him. 

Lord  Buckhurst  and  Mr.  Prior  lingered  a  little  in  the  pleasant 
dim  gun  and  shade,  talking  over  this  great  prospect  opening  out 


THE  EVE  OF  WAR  369 

over  Europe,  and  the  part  the  nations  of  the  world  would  play  in 
the  coming  struggle — which  could  not  fail  to  establish  for  ever 
the  Protestant  faith  and  the  liberty  of  peoples. 

Presently  the  sun  clouded  over,  and  they  were  for  returning 
to  the  Palace,  when  the  distant  sound  of  hoofs  on  the  grass 
caused  them  to  look  round,  thinking  this  might  be  the  King 
returning. 

What  they  saw  was  a  riderless  horse — a  monstrous  sorrel 
horse — galloping  across  the  glade,  with  the  stirrups  flying  loose. 

"  The  King — his  horse  ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Prior  breathlessly. 
Lord  Buckhurst  said  nothing ;  he  turned  and  ran  swiftly  towards 
where  the  animal  had  come  from.  Cumbered  as  he  was  with 
sword,  full  extravagant  vesture,  and  a  wide-bottomed  peruke, 
youth  brought  him  easily  over  the  ground,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
he  came  to  the  spot  he  made  for — a  little  clearing  beyond  the 
great  trees  of  the  avenue,  with  Mr.  Prior  breathless  at  his  heels. 

They  saw  there  what  they  had  been  dreading  to  see :  the 
King  lying  on  the  ground,  and  the  two  frightened  grooms  coming 
up,  one  dismounted  and  in  an  embarrassment  to  know  what  to 
do  with  his  horse,  the  other  giving  doleful  exclamations  and 
cries  for  help. 

William  had  raised  himself  on  one  elbow,  and  was  holding  a 
handkerchief  to  his  mouth. 

Buckhurst  and  Prior  rushed  up  to  him. 

"  Are  you  hurt,  sire  ?  "  cried  my  lord. 

The  King  removed  the  handkerchief  from  his  lips ;  it  was 
scarlet  with  blood. 

"  No,"  he  answered.  "  The  brute  threw  me  over  that  mole- 
hill— the  first  time,  my  lord,  I  have  been  thrown " 

He  put  his  hand  to  the  shoulder  on  which  he  had  fallen. 

"Something  broken,  I  think,"  he  said,  in  a  fainter  voice. 
"They  were  right — I  overestimated  my  skill — I  have  not  the 
seat — I — once — had." 

My  lord  endeavoured  to  raise  him,  tenderly  enough ;  but  at 
the  attempt  to  move  the  King's  face  went  of  an  ashy  colour,  and 
he  fainted  with  pain. 

"This  is  the  end,"  murmured  my  lord.  "Take  him  up, 
Mr.  Prior — dear  God,  I  think  this  is  the  end." 

With  the  aid  of  the  two  servants,  who  had  now  left  their 
24 


3/0  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

horses,  they  carried  him  back,  by  easy  degrees,  into  the  Palace, 
and  his  own  apartments. 

Before  the  doctor  could  be  called  he  came  to  his  senses  and 
asked  for  Albemarle,  On  being  told  he  had  arrived,  he  bid  him 
rest  a  little  before  he  delivered  his  news,  and,  having  sent  the 
message,  called  M.  Zuylestein  to  bring  him  his  yet  unfinished 
letter  to  M.  Heinsius. 

When  it  was  brought,  and  quill  and  ink,  he  sat  up  in  his 
great  chair  with  arms,  and  added  painfully  these  words :  "  God 
be  praised,  all  difficulties  are  overcome,"  and  his  name. 

He  bid  them,  in  a  broken  whisper,  send  off  this  letter  im- 
mediately, and  fell  back  again  in  his  chair,  very  white  and 
frowning. 

The  alarmed  gentlemen  were  for  his  seeing  the  doctor  im- 
mediately, but  he  desired  to  give  Albemarle  his  audience  first. 

My  lord  came  on  the  instant,  spurred  and  dusty,  and  all  in  a 
reek  from  travel. 

He  entered,  with  a  breathless  air  of  dread,  the  throne-room, 
where  they  had  brought  the  King. 

William  was  seated  in  a  great  low  chair  of  red  velvet,  in  front 
of  the  blue  dai's  and  throne,  which  bore  in  silver  the  Royal  arms 
and  the  motto  of  Nassau  :  "  Je  Maintaindrai."  He  still  wore 
his  buff  hunting-coat  with  the  gold  galloon  on  the  wide  skirt  and 
the  tight  doeskin  boots  with  the  gilt  spurs ;  his  waistcoat  was 
open  on  his  laced  shirt,  and  he  held  his  right  hand  over  his  heart. 

Lord  Albemarle  fell  on  his  knees  and  passionately  kissed  the 
King's  free  hand. 

William  looked  down  at  him  affectionately,  and  said,  between 
quick  little  gasps — 

"  How  go  matters  in  Holland  ?  " 

"  Well,  sire,  well — everything  is  in  readiness.  The  States  are 
willing  to  everything  that  Your  Majesty  wisheth ;  all  the  prepara- 
tions are  complete  for  an  early  campaign — but  you,  Your 
Majesty " 

"  Tell  me  of  Holland,"  interrupted  William  faintly. 

Albemarle  looked  round  the  company,  and  hesitated  ;  but  at 
a  sign  from  M.  Zuylestein  obeyed  the  King,  and  spoke  of  the 
affairs  of  the  Republic,  and  of  their  response  to  the  King's  call  to 
arms. 


THE  EVE  OF  WAR  371 

William  of  Orange  listened  to  these  words,  that  told  him  his 
lifework  was  at  last  accomplished,  with  such  calm  that  it  seemed 
indifference,  or  as  if  he  was  giving  no  attention  to  the  matter  of 
the  discourse ;  he  never  changed  his  attitude  or  raised  his  down- 
cast eyes.  It  seemed  as  if  even  this  could  not  rouse  him  now. 

When  Albemarle  paused  at  last  and  waited,  half  fearfully, 
William  spoke,  but  so  faintly  that  my  lord,  kneeling  close  as  he 
was,  could  hardly  catch  the  words. 

"  I  have  often  wished  to  die,"  he  murmured ;  "  but  now  I 
might  wish  to  live  and  see  this  prospect  fulfilled;  but  I  draw 
near  my  end — the  end — the  end " 

He  said  the  word  three  times  with  so  many  little  sighs,  and 
then  fainted,  dropping  his  hand  from  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
GOD  AND  THE  KING 

MONSIEUR  HEINSIUS  sat  in  the  little  room  at  the 
Binnenhof,  which  had  belonged  to  the  Grand  Pension- 
naries  of  Holland  ever  since  the  Republic  had  been  formed. 
The  furniture  and  the  tall  clock  in  the  corner  were  unchanged 
since  the  time  of  the  great  John  de  Witt ;  the  window  looked  on 
the  Vyverberg,  where  the  swans  were  floating  on  the  grey,  shining, 
and  placid  water.  It  was  a  day  in  late  March,  the  year  1702, 
and  the  clock  of  the  Groote  Kerk  had  just  struck  four. 

There  was  a  pause  in  M.  Heinsius's  strenuous  work ;  for  the 
moment  he  had  nothing  to  do,  and  he  was  very  glad  of  the  rare 
leisure.  He  had  not  been  in  good  health  for  some  time,  and 
to-day  felt  feverish  and  heavy  in  his  limbs  ;  he  winced  at  the 
effort  of  giving  instructions  to  his  secretaries,  putting  up  his 
papers,  and  going  home,  so  remained,  half  dozing  in  his  chair, 
looking  at  the  peaceful  surface  of  the  lake,  and  the  still  bare 
trees,  and  neat  brick  houses  beyond. 

Before  him,  on  his  old  black  polished  bureau,  lay  the  last 
letter  from  the  King-Stadtholder,  which  had  given  him  great 
pleasure,  for  alarming  reports  had  been  current  in  The  Hague  as 
to  the  health  of  His  Majesty  since  his  accident  at  Hampton 
Court ;  but  in  this  he  said  not  one  word  of  his  illness.  The  last 
words  were — "I  am  infinitely  concerned  to  learn  that  your 
health  is  not  yet  quite  established.  May  God  be  pleased  to 
grant  you  a  speedy  recovery.  I  am  unalterably  your  good  friend, 
William." 

True,  the  letter  was  dated  the  zoth  of  February,  and 
had  been  delayed  in  the  coming,  and  M.  Heinsius  knew  that 
there  might  be  other  news  in  the  packets  that  were  held  up  in 

37' 


GOD  AND  THE  KING  373 

the  North  Sea  by  the  spring  storms ;  but  he  believed  that  the 
King  would  not  so  have  written  had  he  been  in  any  danger. 

Then  an  extraordinary  thing  happened  to  M.  Heinsius.  He 
was  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  weary  and  exhausted,  his  head 
aching  with  a  little  fever,  and  a  kind  of  lassitude  on  his  senses, 
when  something  caused  him  to  move  his  head  sharply  and  look 
through  the  open  door  into  the  next  chamber,  where  two  of  his 
secretaries  usually  worked. 

They  were,  however,  now  absent  in  the  Assembly,  and 
M.  Heinsius  believed  himself  alone  in  the  two  rooms ;  he  was 
therefore  surprised  to  see  a  young  man  standing  in  this  outer 
chamber  looking  out  at  the  Vyverberg  and  The  Hague  with  an 
arrested  air  of  intense  interest. 

M.  Heinsius  moved  round  in  his  chair,  but  felt  no  desire  to 
speak.  Both  the  rooms  were  full  of  early  sunshine  and  absolutely 
silent.  M.  Heinsius  observed  the  stranger  with  a  sensation  of 
vague  wonder. 

He  was  very  young — little  more  than  a  boy — but  of  a  very 
grave,  still  carriage ;  he  wore  a  violet  coat,  a  black  sash,  a  plain 
sword,  and  a  cravat  of  Frisian  needlework  ;  his  clothes  were  of 
the  fashion  of  thirty  years  ago — of  the  time  of  John  de  Witt. 

He  was  very  slender  and  slight ;  his  hair,  which  was  long, 
thick,  and  heavily  curling,  of  a  deep  chestnut  colour,  fell  either 
side  a  thin  hawk  face  that  M.  Heinsius  could  only  imperfectly 
see  ;  he  wore  one  jewel,  and  that  was  the  collar  of  the  Garter. 

M.  Heinsius  neither  spoke  nor  moved.  Presently  the  youth 
turned  and  came  towards  the  Grand  Pensionary's  cabinet,  walking 
stiffly,  and  holding  his  hat  under  his  arm.  M.  Heinsius  noticed 
the  old-fashioned  rosettes  on  his  square-toed  shoes. 

He  came  steadily  through  the  sunlight,  his  glance  cast 
thoughtfully  down,  and  advanced  to  the  desk  before  which 
M.  Heinsius  sat ;  he  moved  between  the  Grand  Pensionary  and 
the  window,  and,  leaning  forward,  put  his  right  hand,  which  was 
ringless  and  beautiful,  on  the  letter  of  William  of  Orange. 

Then  he  lifted  a  pair  of  eyes  of  singular  power  and  of  a 
marvellous  brilliancy,  and  flashed  a  smile  at  M.  Heinsius. 

"  It  is  finished,"  he  said,  pressing  his  palm  on  the  letter. 
"But  you  will  know  what  to  do." 

Then  he  turned  and  looked  out  of  the  window  with  wistful 


374  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

passion,  as  of  one  leaving  something  he  loves,  and  sighed  a 
little.  After  a  moment  he  moved  away,  reluctantly  it  seemed, 
and  went  as  he  had  come,  slowly  and  gravely  into  the  outer 
chamber,  with  the  sunshine  all  about  him. 

M.  Heinsius  rose  now,  and  turned  to  follow  him ;  when  he 
reached  the  door  of  the  anteroom  he  found  it  empty.  .  .  . 

The  Grand  Pensionary  returned  to  his  seat  and  hid  his  face 
in  his  hands,  telling  himself  that  he  had  the  fever ;  he  tried  to 
think  and  argue  with  himself,  but  it  was  a  useless  effort,  and  he 
fell  presently  into  a  little  sleep — or  swoon — from  which  he  only 
roused  when  he  felt  a  touch  on  his  shoulder,  and  started  up  to 
find  the  room  dark  and  his  secretary  standing  with  a  candle  and 
a  packet  in  his  hand. 

"  From  England  ?  "  murmured  M.  Heinsius. 

"Yes,  Mynheer." 

The  Grand  Pensionary  took  the  letter  eagerly,  hoping  to  see 
the  writing  of  the  King ;  but  it  was  addressed  in  the  hand  of  my 
Lord  Albemarle. 

"  I  have  been  exhausted  unto  sleep,"  he  said.  "  Light  me 
the  candles — I  will  read  this  and  go  home." 

The  candles,  in  their  pale  brass  sticks,  lit  up  the  dark, 
simple  room,  the  black  shining  desk,  the  pale  worn  face  of 
M.  Heinsius,  as  he  opened  the  letter  from  England. 

It  was  dated  at  Kensington  House,  and  this  was  what  the 
Grand  Pensionary  read : — 

"  I  have  to  offer  you  the  saddest  and  most  unwelcome  news 
in  the  world,  which  indeed  I  am  not  yet  able  to  write  plainly. 

"  My  beloved  master  died  yesterday  between  seven  and  eight 
of  the  evening,  which  is  a  loss  that  we  and  indeed  all  Europe 
cannot  be  too  sensible  of. 

"  He  died  with  the  greatest  courage  and  serenity,  speaking 
not  at  all  during  his  last  days,  save  to  thank  us  graciously  for  our 
services.  He  had  no  words  even  for  the  priests  who  came  about 
him,  which  may  cause  some  scandal  here. 

"  I  believe  his  thoughts  to  have  been  always  on  the  Republic, 
from  some  short  ejaculations  he  made,  even  while  the  prayers 
for  the  dying  were  being  read.  I  think  that  even  at  the  very 
last  his  sole  concern  was  the  United  Provinces. 

"He  asked  for  my  lord  of  Portland,  who  came;  but  His 
Majesty  was  past  speech,  yet  he  took  my  lord's  hand  very 


GOD  AND  THE  KING  375 

tenderly,  and  carried  it  up  to  his  heart,  which  was  then  at  the  last 
beat,  and  died  in  that  attitude,  after  but  a  short  struggle  with  his 
breath. 

"  They  found  a  locket  of  the  late  Queen's  hair  fastened  by  a 
black  ribbon  to  his  sword-arm. 

"As  he  was  spared  nothing  during  his  life,  neither  was  he  at 
his  death ;  for  the  doctors  say  now  that  he  must  have  been  in 
great  and  perpetual  agony,  for  his  broken  collar-bone  had  pierced 
his  lungs — yet  not  a  single  murmur  escaped  him.  His  courage 
was  of  the  most  resplendent  any  man  may  have — for  it  was  tried 
in  every  way. 

"  I  cannot  write  a  fuller  account,  for  I  am  struck  beyond 
expression  by  this  event.  You  will,  of  course,  hear  of  it  from 
others. 

"There  is  very  little  grief  here.  They  talk  of  a  statue — 
but  when  shall  we  see  it  raised?  They  are  busy  praising  Queen 
Anne,  who  is  the  silliest  creature  I  know — a  strange  people,  these 
English ;  I  am  out  of  humour  with  them,  and  you  will  see  me  at 
The  Hague  very  soon. 

"  I  must  tell  you  that  the  Earl  of  Sunderland  died  in  retire- 
ment at  Althorp  a  few  weeks  since,  despised  and  neglected  by 
all.  But  the  King  remained  his  friend  to  the  end,  and  even  con- 
sulted with  him  secretly,  and  he  had  the  faithful  attendance  of 
my  lady,  who  is  as  good  a  woman  as  any  I  ever  met,  and,  God 
knows,  a  lonely  one  now. 

"  People  here,  I  think,  cannot  realize  what  His  Majesty  did, 
nor  the  task  he  put  through  when  he  was  in  a  manner  dying,  nor 
their  own  ingratitude.  But  you  and  I  know,  and  England  will 
come  to  enjoy  the  fruits  of  his  work  in  the  years  that  are  coming 
— and  in  Holland  he  can  never  be  forgotten,  for  he  was  the 
greatest  of  the  family  of  the  noblest  and  most  patriotic  princes 
whom  the  world  hath  ever  seen,  and  while  we  are  a  people  we 
shall  revere  his  name. 

"  There  is  much  to  tell  you ;  but  I  cannot  write  of  business 
now,  and  think  to  see  you  soon. — Mynheer  the  Grand  Pen- 
sionary, your  affectionate  friend,  ALBEMARLE." 

M.  Heinsius  put  down  the  letter;  he  felt  scarcely  sad;  a 
glorious  enthusiasm  stirred  his  heart ;  the  room  seemed  all  too 
confined  for  his  mood  ;  he  went  to  the  window,  pushed  it  open, 
and  looked  out  at  the  dark  water  and  the  dark  houses  beyond, 
where  the  lights  were  beginning  to  show  in  the  windows. 

Now  there  was  no  doubting  the  identity  of  the  young  man  of 
his  vision,  nor  what  the  words  meant — 


376  GOD  AND  THE  KING 

"  It  is  finished,  but  you  know  what  to  do." 

The  Grand  Pensionary  knew ;  he  held  in  his  hands  all  the 
clues  to  the  vast  policies  of  his  late  master ;  he  could  guide  the 
Republic  though  the  coming  great  events  of  war  as  the  King 
would  have  wished. 

The  peaceful  evening  fell  to  complete  darkness ;  still  Antoon 
Heinsius  stood  looking  over  The  Hague.  The  King  hath  gone 
to  give  his  account  to  God,  he  thought,  and  God  will  say — Not 
in  vain  did  I  make  you  my  captain — not  in  vain. 


Printed  by  MORRISON  &  GIBB  LIMITED   Edinburgh 


°00135127     9 


